I continued.
“From now on, if Tyler or Lorraine says anything to you, record when lawful, walk away, and tell me.”
“What if they come onto the property?”
“Call me.”
“What if I’m here alone?”
“Lock the door.”
“Dad.”
“I mean it.”
The abandoned-vehicle notice arrived ten days later.
It alleged the Chevelle was nonoperational and therefore prohibited under HOA rules.
That time I did not pay.
I uploaded registration.
Insurance.
Recent emissions exemption documentation.
And a dated video of the engine running.
The HOA rejected all of it.
Reason:
Ownership dispute pending.
I read those three words twice.
Ownership dispute?
That was new.
I requested an explanation.
Lorraine responded personally.
Samuel, records recently provided to our office indicate the vehicle may have been sold previously. Until proper ownership is established, the HOA must treat the car as disputed property.
I called my attorney.
His name was Evan Price.
Former prosecutor.
Terrible golfer.
Good friend.
I forwarded the email.
He called two minutes later.
“What did you sell?”
“Nothing.”
“Do they have a document?”
“Apparently.”
“Want me to send a letter?”
“Not yet.”
Evan was silent.
Then sighed.
“You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“Letting somebody keep digging.”
“I need to know what they think they have.”
“Sam, you are fifty-eight.”
“Yes.”
“You could try normal conflict resolution.”
“I did.”
“When?”
“I told them the car wasn’t for sale.”
He laughed.
Then became serious.
“Be careful.”
“I am.”
“You being chief complicates anything criminal.”
“I know.”
“Recuse early.”
“I will.”
Three days later, a certified letter arrived.
Inside was a photocopy of a bill of sale.
1970 CHEVROLET CHEVELLE SS
Seller: Samuel Walker.
Buyer: Tyler Mercer.
Purchase price: $58,000.
Date: August 12.
My signature appeared at the bottom.
It was close.
Not good.
But close.
The document included a notary stamp.
I knew immediately I had never seen it.
The notary’s name was Judith Baines.
I searched the state database.
Her commission had expired eighteen months earlier.
Then I called Evan.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“Finally.”
“I need a criminal attorney?”
“You need an outside investigator.”
“I agree.”
That evening, I met with Alicia.
Detective Sarah Nolan from Major Crimes joined us.
Sarah was forty-one, former financial-crimes detective, and had the kind of patience that made liars talk longer than they should.
I placed every document on the table.
Fines.
Videos.
Inspection notice.
Threat reported by Caleb.
Forged bill of sale.
Notary status.
HOA emails.
Sarah read quietly.
Then she looked at me.
“Chief.”
“Sam.”
“Not for this conversation.”
I nodded.
“Chief, once I open this, you are a victim and witness.”