Leo Driscoll bought a crashed 2012 sedan at a county auto auction for $850 to salvage its engine.
Maya’s fingers paused over her keyboard, hovering over a line of text on the screen. The flickering monitor cast a pale light across her face.
“Get this,” she said, her voice quiet but sharp. “Apex Restructuring LLC. Registered agent: Randall Thorne, Attorney at Law.”
I stared at her. “So?”
“Randall Thorne is Marcus Brody’s lawyer,” she replied, her eyes meeting mine. “He’s represented Marcus in a few minor traffic incidents, and one small-claims case last year.”
A cold knot formed in my stomach. Marcus. The brother who sold the car, who appeared alive with Julian in the photo. The same Marcus whose lawyer was now trying to seize the sedan.
“He’s moving fast,” I muttered, the implications sinking in.
Carla paced the garage floor, running a hand through her short, practical haircut. “So, the guy who sold us the car is trying to get it back, even after we paid for it?”
“Sounds like it,” Maya confirmed. “And he’s using a brand new shell company to do it. That’s a classic move in the kind of circles Frank Moretti operates in.”
I walked over to the stack of paperwork Carla had retrieved from the county auction. It included the bill of sale, the transfer documents, and the vehicle title. My hands felt grimy just touching them.
“Let me see that title,” I said, pulling out the crumpled forms.
The paper felt thin and cheap. The original owner was listed as Julian Brody. The transfer of ownership, however, was dated almost three weeks *after* Julian’s reported death.
I scanned the signature line for Julian Brody. It was a messy scrawl, but it didn’t look right. I remembered seeing Marcus Brody’s signature on the auction receipt. It had the same distinctive loop on the ‘B’.
“Look at this,” I said, holding the title next to the auction receipt for Carla and Maya. “This signature… it’s Julian Brody’s name, but it looks an awful lot like Marcus’s handwriting.”
Maya leaned in, comparing the two. Her eyes narrowed. “You’re right. The slant, the pressure points… it’s almost identical. He forged his dead brother’s signature.”
Carla let out a low whistle. “So, he sold us a car using a forged signature. That’s fraud, Leo.”
“It’s more than that,” I said, staring at the paper. “He didn’t just sell a car. He sold a car that supposedly belonged to his dead brother, three weeks after the fact, using a fake signature. He knew what he was doing.”
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