I sent her the footage from my driveway camera. A white truck. A trailer. Two men. Patricia chatting like she was selling a used lawn chair. They loaded my Cobra fast, like professionals.
That night, Mark texted from Chicago: Mom said she helped clear the garage. Sounds overdue. Maybe now we can use the space for something normal.
I stared at the message until my anger became calm.
By morning, Carmen had answers. The buyer’s name was fake. The phone number was prepaid. The address was an empty lot. Patricia’s Craigslist post had called the Cobra an “old kit car project” and listed it for three thousand dollars. Carmen believed the men were tied to a network that watched for undervalued classic cars and moved them quickly.
When Mark came home, he found me at the kitchen island with the title, appraisal, insurance papers, photos, and police report spread in front of me.
He sighed. “So we’re doing this? A whole legal production?”
“Your mother sold my car to a stranger using fake paperwork.”
“She made a mistake.”
“A mistake is using salt instead of sugar. This was theft.”
“Don’t call my mother a thief.”
