Marine Returns From Okinawa to Find Her Bungalow Already Sold
“The restraining order gives Benson twenty days,” Vance said, tapping his pen on a photocopied page. “He is trying to keep you away from his office long enough to purge his records.”
I adjusted my uniform collar, the starched fabric cutting into my throat as I stared at the timeline he had drawn in black ink.
“He cannot purge everything,” I said. “The county notary has a ledger.”
Vance shook his head, his face tight in the dim light of the desk lamp.
“The county registry only has the scanned copy of the deed,” he said. “To void this transfer immediately, we need the original notary logbook showing you never signed it in person.”
“And if the notary is in on it?” I asked.
“The notary listed on the scanned deed is Brenda Vance,” he said, turning a page. “No relation to me, of course.”
“She has been with the county for twelve years,” I said, reading the name on the copy.
“Her record is clean,” Vance said. “That means either Benson misled her, or he copied her official notary stamp without her knowledge.”
