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“I’ll begin sending immediately.” It could take weeks to gather the information despite my meticulous records. We did thousands of transactions a year. Having to dig back so long ago would be difficult.
“I’d start with your apartment,” Zegas said. “Unless you’ve purchased something more valuable.”
Hollingsworth Properties did high-dollar transactions on a regular basis. But that apartment was personal to me. Maybe it didn’t have the homey feel of Lexie and Eric’s place, but it was mine.
“What are the ramifications? Assuming the worst that there are liens against the titles.”
I understood the inner workings of property law. A situation such as this—not that I was aware of one on this scale—did not usually bode well for the person in my position. Potentially there could be a statute of limitations. Or a desperate rationale might be that I’d lived in the apartment for over a decade, therefore I was privy to squatter’s rights.
“I’m going to bring in a friend of mine who specializes in real estate law,” Whitley said. “Before we make any presumptions, he may have some insight. We need Dixon on this. Start sending those records, and we’ll meet tomorrow afternoon.”
I nodded and stood, shaking hands with both men. “I’ll be in touch.”
How the hellhad this happened?
I was meticulous. Overly thorough. And I’d trusted the wrong people to do what they were supposed to do.
I breathed in the cool city evening air, but it did nothing to still my racing mind.
Please don’t let that city attorney contact my father.
Who was I fooling? Nothing escaped his knowledge.
As much as I needed Beau’s expertise, I couldn’t burden her with this. I hoped I’d have this resolved before either of them was aware a problem had occurred.
What benefit did Titan Title have by not doing as promised? I couldn’t wrap my mind around offering a service and not following through.
This was beyond unscrupulous.
And if they did what it appeared they had, I would make certain they never saw the outside of a jail cell again.
I pushed into an uncrowded coffee house.
“I’ll have coffee. Black.” I pulled out my wallet and inserted my credit card in the machine.
“Can you try again, sir?” the cashier asked. “It didn’t go through.”
I tried again.
He shook his head. “Do you have another card?”
I stuffed the black card back into its slot, irritated I’d have to make an unnecessary call to the credit card company.
The machine beeped when I inserted a different card.
“Sorry, man. That one didn’t go through either.”
“Is something wrong with your processor?” I snapped.
“That lady over there had no problem with her card.”
I tried one more.
When it too was declined, I slammed cash on the counter and stalked a few paces away to wait.
“Sir, you forgot your change.”
“Keep it.”
