My truck.
The flatbed rolled slowly across the yard carrying the Mustang, the Challenger, and the Impala strapped tightly in place. Seeing them there made my chest tighten again.
The tow driver parked near the holding area and climbed out. Another man stepped out from the passenger side wearing a reflective vest. They started unhooking the straps.
Then someone else walked into frame.
A woman.
Even before the camera zoomed closer, I already knew who it was.
Karen.
She was wearing oversized sunglasses and holding a clipboard, standing with the posture of someone who believed they were completely in charge.
The yard worker in the footage walked up to her and pointed toward the cars, clearly asking a question. Karen started talking. The camera didn’t record audio, but her body language said everything. She pointed aggressively at the vehicles. She tapped the clipboard several times and gestured toward the crusher in the distance.
Then she signed something.
The yard worker hesitated. Karen leaned closer and said something again, more firmly this time. Finally the worker nodded and accepted the paperwork.
I paused the video and leaned back in my chair.
There it was.
Karen hadn’t just filed a complaint.
She had shown up at the scrapyard herself and signed the authorization, which meant she knowingly pretended to have the authority to order the destruction of property she didn’t own.
That was impersonation.
Fraud.
And attempted destruction of property.
I pressed play again.
The tow driver finished unloading the cars and pulled away. Karen stayed behind for another minute, pacing around the vehicles while talking to one of the yard employees. Then she walked up to the Mustang.
My Mustang.
She ran her finger across the hood, leaving a thin line in the dust. Even through the silent video, her expression was clear.
Satisfaction.
She looked proud.
Then she walked away and left the yard.
I paused the video again and zoomed in on the moment she signed the paperwork. Her face was clear. Her signature was clear. There was no misunderstanding what she had done.
I copied the footage onto the station server and leaned back in my chair.
Karen probably went home yesterday believing she had finally won. She probably imagined my reaction when I opened that empty garage. She probably thought the cars were already crushed into scrap metal.
But she had made one very important mistake.
She had inserted herself directly into the process, which meant she had placed herself on camera, signing documents she had no legal authority to sign.
And now the entire situation had shifted.
This wasn’t just about getting my cars back anymore.
This had become a criminal case.