“No.”
He looked closer.
“This was taken before I replaced those cabinets.”
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
Diane frowned.
Marcus took out his phone.
Opened his personal photos.
Searched.
Nothing.
He knew the image.
But not where from.
Then he remembered.
“HOA inspection.”
Diane stared.
“What?”
Marcus looked at her.
“Two years ago you sent property-management inspectors around to verify garages weren't being converted into rentals.”
Diane's expression changed.
“That program was voluntary.”
Marcus laughed once.
“Voluntary after three violation notices.”
Hayes asked:
“Was this photo taken during that inspection?”
Marcus zoomed.
“Looks like it.”
Diane shook her head.
“No.”
Marcus pointed toward the right corner.
A small inspection board appeared on a shelf.
Date sticker visible.
“I remember that.”
Diane went still.
Ruiz asked:
“Who has access to those inspection photos?”
Diane answered slowly.
“HOA board.”
“Anyone else?”
“Property-management company.”
“Contractors?”
“Possibly.”
“How many people?”
“I don't know.”
Marcus crossed his arms.
Now the situation had shifted again.
The scammer had not merely stolen public images.
At least one photograph likely came from a private HOA record.
Hayes looked at Ruiz.
“Call financial crimes.”
Detective Rachel Mendoza arrived forty minutes later.
By then Diane had stopped accusing Marcus.
She stood near the curb looking ten years older.
Marcus considered going inside.
Instead he brought out two bottles of water.
Offered one to Diane.
She looked at it.
Then him.
“You don't have to.”
“I know.”
She accepted it.
No thank you.
Not yet.
Mendoza reviewed everything.
Fifty-one.
Dark hair streaked with gray.
Patient eyes.
The kind of detective who listened longer than most people were comfortable talking.
She examined the listing.
The forged title.
Payment information.
Message history.
Then the garage photograph.
“How sure are you this came from the HOA inspection?”
Marcus said:
“Ninety percent.”
Diane corrected:
“The timestamp matches.”
Everyone looked at her.
She held her phone.
“I checked the inspection archive.”
Mendoza asked:
“And?”
Diane swallowed.
“That exact photograph is there.”
Marcus's jaw tightened.
“Who accessed it?”
“I can't see that from my account.”
“Who can?”
“Briarwood Community Management.”
Mendoza wrote the name.
“Office location?”
“Charlotte.”
“Contact?”
Diane provided it.
Mendoza asked:
“Does the database include resident vehicle information?”
Diane hesitated.
Marcus noticed.
“What kind of vehicle information?”
Mendoza repeated.
Diane answered:
“Parking permits.”
Marcus stared.
“VIN numbers?”
“No.”
“License plates?”
“Yes.”
“Vehicle models?”
“Sometimes.”
“Values?”
“No.”
Marcus asked:
“Garage photos?”
“Property inspection images.”
Mendoza looked between them.
“Any resident contact information?”
“Yes.”
“Travel notices?”
Diane froze.
Marcus turned.
“What travel notices?”
The HOA maintained an optional “vacation watch” system.
Residents could tell property management when they would be away so security patrols could watch homes.
Dates.
Contact numbers.
Emergency contacts.
Sometimes alarm notes.
Marcus's expression hardened.
“You have a database telling people when houses are empty?”
Diane became defensive.
“It's supposed to be secure.”
“Apparently so was my garage photo.”
“Marcus.”
“No.”
Mendoza raised one hand.
“Stop.”
She looked at Diane.
“How many people can access the full system?”
“Board president.”
“Property manager.”
“Regional supervisor.”
“Security liaison.”
“IT administrator.”
“Anyone else?”
Diane thought.
“Temporary access can be granted.”
“To contractors?”
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“I don't know.”
Mendoza closed her notebook.
“We need the access logs.”
Diane nodded.
“I'll get them.”
Marcus looked at her.
“Can you?”
Her face hardened slightly.
“I’m still president.”
For the first time that morning, her authority might actually help.
By Monday, the case was no longer about a single fake Challenger.
Briarwood Community Management turned over server access logs after receiving formal requests.
Detectives discovered multiple unusual downloads.
Resident photographs.
Vehicle records.
Vacation notices.
Property inspection images.
Most came from one account.
JASON CREEL.
Assistant property coordinator.
Twenty-nine.
Employed by Briarwood Community Management for fourteen months.
Diane recognized the name.
Marcus did not.
“He's been at meetings,” Diane said.
“When?”
“Quarterly compliance reviews.”
“What does he do?”
“Mostly database maintenance.”
Marcus stared.
“So the guy maintaining the database can download everything?”
Diane looked uncomfortable.
“Apparently.”
Mendoza continued.
Creel's account had accessed Marcus's garage inspection eighteen times during six months.
Not only the Challenger.
Other files too.
A 1968 Mustang owned by a retired surgeon.
A Corvette stored by a resident who traveled frequently.
Two luxury motorcycles.
Several expensive watches visible during interior maintenance documentation.
Marcus leaned back.
“This isn't one scam.”
“No,” Mendoza said.
It was a targeting list.
Investigators found thirteen fraudulent vehicle listings using photographs connected to homes managed by the same company.
Seven involved actual residents' vehicles.
Six used similar models.
Three victims had already paid deposits.
Diane was the largest.
Another buyer lost twelve thousand.
Another eight.
A fourth caught the scam before transferring money.
Marcus asked:
“Why sell cars he knows exist?”
Mendoza explained.
Reality made the fraud more convincing.
Real VIN patterns.
Real photographs.
Real maintenance details sometimes visible in records.
If buyers searched the vehicle online, they might find matching event photos.
The fraud looked authentic because much of the underlying information was authentic.
Diane looked sick.
She asked:
“Did Creel contact me directly?”
“Not under his name.”
“Michael Travis?”
“Likely alias.”
“You know?”
“Not yet.”
The bank account belonged to a recently formed company.
Travis Heritage Motors.
Registered to a vacant office.
Mail forwarded twice.
Money moved quickly after receipt.
Then split across accounts.
Professional enough to cause problems.
Sloppy enough to leave patterns.
Marcus asked the question nobody else had.
“How did he know Diane would want my car?”
Mendoza looked toward Diane.
Diane looked away.
Marcus noticed.
“What?”
Nothing.
“Diane.”
She sighed.
“Months ago I mentioned it.”
“Mentioned what?”
“The Challenger.”
“To Creel?”
“At an HOA meeting.”
Marcus stared.
“Why?”
“You were arguing about driveway parking.”
“You mean you were arguing.”
She ignored that.
“I said the car probably violated the neighborhood's nuisance-vehicle rule if it remained visible during restoration.”
Marcus laughed in disbelief.
“It wasn't being restored.”
“I know that now.”