"Family business."
Meanwhile, Brenda was having a full psychological break. "He's lying! Look at these!" She thrust printed photos at Officer Morgan.
Marcus's EvidenceBrenda's EvidenceStep-by-step timestamped restoration photos. Generic dealer stock photos printed from the internet. Mechanic in work uniform standing by the car. Glossy images of a car that could be anywhere in the world. Actual physical possession of the keys and car. Absolutely nothing physical.
Morgan examined her papers with the enthusiasm of an auditor. "Ma'am, do you have purchase documentation? A bill of sale? Wire transfer receipts? VIN numbers?"
Brenda's face turned the approximate color of my Camaro. "It's... It's all being processed. The dealer said paperwork takes time for classic cars!"
While she improvised, I dug through my workbench and produced my holy grail: the three-ring binder.
"Here's my DMV registration," I said, handing Chen the document. Eighteen months old. My name. This address. Matching VIN.
His flashlight beam danced across the official state document. Everything aligned perfectly. I flipped to the next plastic sleeve, revealing my Progressive insurance policy with agreed-value coverage. Morgan scribbled notes, occasionally glancing at Brenda, who was unraveling faster than a cheap sweater. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
"Officers, he obviously forged everything! He's probably running some sophisticated identity theft operation!" Brenda shrieked.