Cynthia noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Say it.”
Daniel hesitated.
Then he shrugged.
“That's what scammers do.”
Cynthia's eyes narrowed.
“You don't have to enjoy this.”
Daniel looked toward the garage.
“I don't.”
And that was true.
He didn't enjoy seeing Cynthia lose eighteen thousand dollars.
But he also couldn't forget the way she had stood in his driveway, called him a criminal, and described him to the emergency dispatcher as though his existence itself represented a threat.
Officer Ramirez continued.
“Did Robert Lane provide a bank account?”
“Yes.”
“Was it in his name?”
Cynthia froze.
The officer noticed.
“No,” Cynthia said quietly.
“What name?”
“Lane Automotive Holdings.”
Officer Bennett typed.
Then stopped.
“What?”
Cynthia's voice had become smaller.
The officer looked at her.
“That's not a registered company.”
Cynthia closed her eyes.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Officer Bennett's phone rang.
He stepped away to answer.
Daniel heard only fragments.
“Yes.”
“Same photographs?”
“How many victims?”
Daniel looked at Officer Ramirez.
She shook her head slightly.
“Still investigating.”
When Officer Bennett returned, his expression was grim.
“We've connected at least four reports.”
Cynthia stood.
“Four?”
“Four known victims so far.”
“All cars?”
“Classic vehicles.”
Daniel looked at the Camaro.
The scam suddenly became clear.
Someone searched online for photographs of valuable classic cars.
They copied images.
Copied VIN information when it was visible.
Created fake listings.
Generated false titles and purchase agreements.
Then collected money from buyers.
The actual cars never moved.
The actual owners often had no idea their vehicles were being advertised.
Daniel walked inside and returned with his laptop.
He opened the classic-car forum.
Within minutes, Officer Bennett found Daniel's photographs.
One post.
Then another.
Then an image-sharing account that had reposted them.
Then a fake advertisement.
Daniel stared at the screen.
“That picture.”
Officer Bennett zoomed in.
“What about it?”
Daniel pointed.
“I never posted that version.”
The photograph had been edited.
A small reflection in the garage window had been removed.
The license plate had been digitally altered.
And the location information had been erased.
Officer Bennett leaned closer.
“Someone spent time on this.”
Daniel looked at Cynthia.
She looked devastated.
For the first time since the morning began, she spoke to him without accusation.
“I thought you stole it.”
Daniel remained quiet.
“I know.”
“I thought…”
She stopped.
Officer Ramirez watched her.
Cynthia looked toward the neighbors.
“I saw the VIN.”
Daniel answered.
“And instead of asking questions, you called 911.”
Her face tightened.
“I thought you were refusing to give me my property.”
“You had never seen the property before.”
“I know.”
Daniel looked down.
Cynthia continued.
“I made a mistake.”
The words were difficult for her.
Daniel had lived beside Cynthia long enough to understand how difficult.
But an apology did not erase the morning.
It did not erase the emergency call.
It did not erase the neighbors watching him while police officers stood beside his garage.
And it certainly did not erase the eighteen thousand dollars Cynthia had lost.
Officer Bennett approached.
“Mr. Brooks, we need copies of everything you posted about this vehicle.”
“Of course.”
“And your security footage from this morning.”
Daniel nodded.
Officer Ramirez looked at Cynthia.
“We'll also need all communications with Robert Lane.”
Cynthia opened her phone.
Her hands were shaking.
As they reviewed the messages, another detail emerged.
Robert Lane had asked Cynthia whether she belonged to an HOA.
She had answered yes.
He had asked whether the neighborhood was secure.
She had said that security was “strict.”
He had asked whether neighbors could see one another's properties.
Cynthia had answered that residents were “very observant.”
Officer Bennett looked up.
“Did you tell him the car was located in this neighborhood?”
Cynthia shook her head.
“No.”
Daniel frowned.
“Then how did he know?”
Nobody answered.
Officer Bennett typed again.
Then his phone rang.
He listened.
“Understood.”
When the call ended, Officer Ramirez walked toward him.
“What did they find?”
Officer Bennett looked toward Daniel.
“The fake seller may have accessed more than photographs.”
Daniel felt something cold move through his stomach.
“What do you mean?”
The officer looked at the street.
“At least one victim reported that the seller knew details about the actual vehicle owner.”
Daniel looked at his house.
His garage.
His cameras.
Then back at the officer.
Someone had not simply copied a photograph.
Someone had been watching.
Daniel barely slept that night.
The Camaro remained locked inside the garage.
He checked the doors twice.
Then checked them again.
He watched the security footage from the previous several weeks.
At first, there was nothing unusual.
Mail carriers.
Delivery drivers.
Neighbors walking dogs.
Cynthia's silver SUV passing through the street.
Then, at 2:14 on a Tuesday afternoon, Daniel noticed a dark sedan parked near the end of the block.
It remained there for eleven minutes.
The driver never stepped out.
Daniel zoomed in.
The image was blurry.
But the vehicle had appeared again three days later.
And again the following week.
Officer Ramirez returned the next morning with a digital investigator.
Together, they reviewed the footage.
“Could be nothing,” the investigator said.
Daniel looked at him.
“That's comforting.”
The investigator smiled slightly.
“I'm not saying it is nothing.”
They examined footage from Daniel's cameras, nearby intersections, and other available sources.
Then Officer Bennett received a message.
He walked into the garage.
“Mr. Brooks.”
Daniel looked up.
“We found something.”
The bank account used by Robert Lane had received payments from multiple buyers.
The money had been quickly transferred through several accounts.
But one withdrawal had been connected to a surveillance camera.
The image showed a man.
Officer Bennett displayed the photograph.
Daniel stared.
Then his eyes narrowed.
“I know him.”
Cynthia, standing behind him, looked at the photograph.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
“No.”
Officer Bennett looked at her.
“You recognize him?”
Cynthia sat down heavily.
The man in the photograph was not Robert Lane.
His name was Victor Hale.
And he had lived in Stonebridge Estates three years earlier.
Daniel remembered him vaguely.
Victor had been a contractor.
He had worked on Cynthia's house.