“No.”
“Then why are you warning me?”
“Because false reports have consequences.”
Her smile hardened.
“You really think they’re going to believe you over me?”
The sentence hung there.
The Homeowner looked at her.
Not angry now.
Curious.
“Why wouldn’t they?”
The President opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
The first police SUV turned onto the street.
A second followed.
The President walked toward the curb before either stopped completely.
The Homeowner remained beside the Mustang.
He did not reach for anything.
Did not raise his voice.
The first officer stepped out.
White man.
Mid-forties.
Sergeant stripes.
The second vehicle carried a younger Black female officer.
The President moved toward the Sergeant.
“That’s him.”
The Sergeant looked past her.
Toward the Homeowner.
Then the Mustang.
“What happened?”
The President pointed.
“That vehicle belonged to the prior resident.”
“He died recently.”
“This man moved in and suddenly claims the car is his.”
The Homeowner almost interrupted.
Did not.
The Sergeant asked:
“Do you own the vehicle?”
The Homeowner answered:
“Yes.”
“Registration?”
“In the glove compartment.”
The Sergeant nodded.
“Before you retrieve it, keep your hands visible.”
“Understood.”
The President folded her arms.
The younger officer walked toward the rear plate.
Entered it into her tablet.
The Homeowner opened the driver door slowly.
Pulled out registration.
Insurance.
A photocopy of the title.
He had begun keeping copies in the car precisely because the HOA President had made several complaints about the Mustang being an “unregistered stored vehicle.”
The Sergeant reviewed the documents.
Name matched.
Address matched.
VIN matched.
The President stepped closer.
“Those could be forged.”
The Sergeant looked at her.
“Ma’am, please let us verify.”
“I’m explaining context.”
“We’ll ask.”
Her mouth tightened.
The younger officer looked at the plate record.
Then the VIN.
She called dispatch.
The Homeowner stood beside the open driver door.
The Sergeant asked:
“When did you acquire it?”
The Homeowner gave the date.
“From?”
“The previous owner.”
“Purchase?”
“One dollar.”
The Sergeant looked up.
The President laughed loudly.
“There.”
The Homeowner looked at her.
The Sergeant did not laugh.
“One dollar?”
“Yes.”
“Gift transfer structured as nominal sale?”
“Yes.”
The Sergeant nodded.
Common enough.
He continued.
“Previous owner related to you?”
“No.”
“How did you know him?”
“Friend.”
The President interrupted.
“He was elderly and sick.”
The Sergeant looked toward her.
“Ma’am.”
She stopped.
The Homeowner continued.
“We had known each other several years.”