"You think you're smart. We'll see about that. " He had posted a long story on Facebook calling me an unstable, dangerous individual who had threatened to eliminate him and his girlfriend. I finished my coffee and drove my old Dodge over to Brennan Motors, Curtis's used car lot on the south side of town. The lot was full of overpriced vehicles with yellow price tags. Curtis was in his glass office gesturing wildly on the phone.
When he spotted me parking right outside, his face drained of color. I walked into his office, the bell above the door chiming softly. Curtis stood behind his desk like it was a fortress. "You can't be here," he stammered. "I'll call the police. " "This is a public business," I replied sitting down across from him.
I'm a potential customer looking for something reliable. We don't have anything in your price range, Curtis snapped. Look, Nick, Amber and I are in love, real love. Real love? I chuckled.
Is that what you call an afternoon motel and lying to your wife? You had no right to film us. I stood up slowly and walked over to the window, looking out at his prized 1969 red Camaro SS. I'm not going to touch your car, Curtis. I'm not going to threaten you.
I'm just going to make sure everyone in this town knows exactly what kind of man you are. And Curtis, you might want to invest in some adult diapers. His face turned ghostly pale as the memory of our driveway encounter played behind his eyes. I walked out to my truck, leaving him trembling in his office. That afternoon, I paid a visit to Amber's law firm, Hartwell and Associates.
The receptionist looked up nervously as I walked in. A few minutes later, managing partner Richard Hartwell walked me into his corner office. I pulled out my phone and played the motel video for him. I thought you should know that one of your employees is conducting personal business during work hours. Last Friday, 2:30 in the afternoon, she was supposed to be in depositions.
Then I showed him screenshots of text messages between Amber and Curtis planning their meetings during office hours. Hartwell pressed a button on his desk phone. Jessica, please ask Amber to come to my office immediately. Five minutes later, Amber walked in looking sharp in her navy blue suit. When she saw me, she stopped dead in her tracks.
Hartwell showed her the evidence. Richard, I can explain, Amber started. Clear out your office, Hartwell interrupted, his voice ice cold. Security will escort you out. Your termination is effective immediately.
Amber glared at me with pure hatred. This is all your fault. No. I said quietly. This is all your choice.
Two security guards walked her out while half the firm watched in total fascination. Two weeks later, I hired Ray Sullivan, a former cop turned private investigator. I gave him a retainer to dig up everything on Curtis Brennan. Ray delivered his report three days later revealing that Curtis was a fraud. His car lot was mortgaged to the hilt.