Now the records he'd relied on to move the property toward a distressed acquisition were becoming evidence against him.
But he wasn't finished.
Two days later, I arrived at the garage to discover that somebody had broken into the records office overnight.
The cash drawer was untouched.
The expensive tools were still there.
But the filing cabinet containing my father's old papers had been forced open.
Documents were scattered across the floor.
And the folder marked Bell Property Proposal was gone.
I stood in the doorway staring at the empty drawer.
Then called the police.
Because for the first time, I understood that somebody wasn't merely trying to acquire the garage.
Somebody was frightened of what my father had preserved.
The police arrived before eight.
Two officers examined the broken office lock, photographed the scattered papers, and asked who had access to the building.
I told them about the foreclosure dispute.
Arthur Bell.
Harbor Gate Development.
And the documents that had disappeared.
They took notes without making assumptions.
I understood why.
A burglary didn't prove Bell had ordered it.
And I didn't want to repeat the mistake of deciding what happened before anyone examined the evidence.
Fortunately, I'd listened to Rachel.
Every important letter in the folder had been photographed and copied before the break-in.
She also had the original property records obtained through the county.
Whoever entered the office had taken paper.
They hadn't taken the evidence out of existence.
When Rachel arrived, she examined the damaged cabinet.
Then looked toward me.
“Are you all right?”
I nodded.
“Angry.”
She gave a small smile.
“That's understandable.”
I looked toward the empty drawer.
“What now?”
“We cooperate with the police, preserve the security recordings, and make certain the people reviewing the loan know relevant documents were taken.”
I nodded.
My employee had already helped secure the office.
The shop cameras covered the service entrance, although the recording from the night was grainy.
The footage showed someone entering through a side door shortly after midnight.
A hood concealed the person's face.
But the vehicle used to leave had a distinctive dent along one rear panel.
The police took the footage.
I gave them everything I knew.
Then returned to work.
Because the difficult truth about running a small business is that even when your world feels like it's collapsing, somebody still needs their brakes repaired before they can safely drive home.
At noon, Danielle arrived with sandwiches.