“Yes, ma’am.”
“And this individual, Vance, he’s active duty lieutenant.”
She leaned back.
“All right,” she said. “This is already bad.”
I knew it got worse.
“I need to bring in someone else,” she said. “This overlaps with civilian property law if there’s more tied to it.”
“Call him,” I said.
Ten minutes later, I sat with a civilian real-estate attorney in his mid-fifties.
Mr. Dalton.
Direct.
No wasted words.
“Captain,” he said, “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”
Morales handed him the folder.
Dalton moved through it quickly, focusing less on the fraud and more on where it led.
Then he stopped.
“Hold on,” he muttered.
He pulled out a document I hadn’t seen.
“That yours?” he asked.
Purchase agreement.
My address.
My house.
Buyer: private development firm.
Sale price: $650,000.
“Where did you get this?” I asked.
“Pulled from preliminary filings,” he said. “This was submitted for processing last week.”
