That was my cue to deploy the nuclear option. From the back of the binder, I extracted a piece of yellow legal paper, its edges soft from handling.
1967 Chevrolet Camaro. Condition as is. Extensive rust damage throughout. $3,200 cash. Buyer assumes all responsibility.
Below it was the shaky cursive signature of Eleanor Hutchinson, dated eighteen months ago.
"This is the original purchase document from a 93-year-old widow's estate sale," I explained. "Sweetest lady you'd ever meet. Made me promise to bring the car back for her to see when I finished."
The silence that followed was so complete I could hear a sprinkler system three houses down. Officer Chen closed his notebook with the finality of a judge's gavel.
"Ma'am, this gentleman has clear chain of ownership documentation spanning over a year. Your evidence appears to be internet printouts."
Chen's tone shifted to that special, icy register cops reserve for people having public meltdowns. "I need to inform you that filing a false police report is a misdemeanor offense in this state. People get real jail time for knowingly providing false information to law enforcement."
The color drained from Brenda's face. "I... There must be some terrible mistake. The stress of car shopping... you know how confusing these things can be."
As the officers packed up to leave, I caught her staring at me through her living room window with the cold calculation of a chess master. This wasn't over. This was just round one.