It couldn’t.
The deputies entered through the side door.
Everything was recorded.
They asked about residency.
Ownership.
The old key.
The deed.
The posted notice.
Dad proudly handed them the document.
One deputy studied it.
Then looked toward the security camera.
“Ms. Bennett is available remotely?”
“I am.”
“We’ll need proof of ownership and identification.”
“It has already been sent to your office.”
“Thank you.”
Dad shouted that I didn’t own the villa.
The deputy calmly reminded him that the deed he relied on was now formally disputed.
The deputies didn’t arrest anyone that afternoon.
Michael had warned me real investigations didn’t work like television.
Documents had to be verified.
Signatures compared.
Notaries contacted.
Money traced.
