The file grew thicker.
Then, in late September, Cody made the mistake I had been waiting for.
He filed the fraudulent deed with the county recorder’s office, the same office where Alicia worked.
Now there was an official public record of his forgery, time-stamped and documented. He needed that filing to show a clean chain of title to a potential buyer, because as I soon learned, he had already found one.
The house had been offered quietly.
No MLS listing. No public sign. No open house.
An off-market private sale.
My house, listed for nine hundred thousand dollars.
The deal was set to close in forty-five days.
Alicia called me the second she saw it.
“Is there a buyer under contract?” I asked.
“There’s a purchase agreement on file. Cash buyer. LLC.”
“Forty-five days,” I said.
“Nathan, you need to move.”
“I am moving.”
I called Sierra. I called Morgan. Then I called the Miami-Dade Police Department’s Financial Crimes Unit, where, over the previous three months, I had quietly developed a relationship with a detective who was patient, sharp, and very fond of receiving organized evidence.
I delivered my package in person.
Printed. Tabbed. Indexed.