Marine Returns From Okinawa to Find Her Bungalow Already Sold
The numbers on the two pages did not match, leaving a gap of twenty-four thousand dollars that had simply vanished.
The morning light in the county records basement was gray and cold, smelling of vinegar and wet concrete from the old plumbing lines under the floor.
Captain Vance, the legal assistance officer from the base, laid three other property files on the metal table between us.
“These three properties are all within two miles of Maggie Street,” Vance said, his finger resting on the top folder. “Look at the notary signatures.”
I leaned in, my uniform collar stiff against my neck.
“The same notary public,” I said. “And the same buyer.”
“Oak Glen Holdings,” Vance said. “It is a limited liability company registered in Delaware. No physical address, just a registered agent who forwards mail to a post office box in Pensacola.”
“Whose box is it?” I asked.
“Gerald Benson,” Vance said. “He is the sole corporate officer of Oak Glen.”
I touched my collar, adjusting the starch. “So he buys the properties himself.”
