Chapter 3

Back in my sterile motel room, the adrenaline from the confrontation began to fade, replaced by a cold, calculating resolve. I sat on the edge of the bed, the glow of my laptop screen illuminating the small space. I uploaded the video from the party to a secure cloud server, along with the photo of the mail. This wasn't just about a house anymore. This was a systematic dismantling of my life, and I needed to fight back with the same level of precision.

I was meticulously documenting every inconsistency, creating a timeline of the fraud, when a sharp, authoritative knock echoed from the door.

I froze. It wasn't the tentative knock of housekeeping. It was heavy, demanding.

I walked to the door and looked through the peephole. Two men in police uniforms stood outside. My first thought was that Detective Riley had sent them, but something felt off. Their uniforms were a little too crisp, their posture a little too rigid.

I opened the door, leaving the chain on. "Can I help you, officers?"

The taller of the two men held up a badge. It looked real enough at a glance. "Are you Alex Miller?"

"I am."

"We have a restraining order here for you, sir," he said, his voice flat and emotionless. He slid a folded document through the opening. "You're to stay at least 500 feet away from Brenda Hayes and her place of residence."

I took the paper. It was a court document, complete with a judge's signature. Another forgery, I was certain. They were trying to use the system against me, to legally bar me from my own property.

"This is based on false pretenses," I said calmly. "The woman who filed this is committing fraud."

The second officer, a stocky man with a hard face, spoke up. "We also have a warrant for your arrest. Harassment, trespassing."

"Trespassing on my own property?" I asked, my voice dripping with disbelief.

My mind was racing. These weren't real cops. The way they stood, their impatience, the slight hesitation when I questioned them-it all screamed fake. This was an intimidation tactic orchestrated by Jake and Brenda, or whoever was pulling their strings.

I decided to play along. "Okay," I said, feigning resignation. "Let me just get my wallet and phone."

I unlatched the chain and opened the door. As I turned back into the room, I discreetly pressed the record button on my phone, which was already set up. I also casually glanced at the badge number on the taller man's uniform and committed it to memory.

"I need to make a call," I said, holding up my phone. "To my lawyer."

The stocky officer sneered. "You can make your call from the station." He took a step forward, reaching for my arm.

"No," I said, stepping back. "I'll make it right now."

My heart was pounding, but my voice remained steady. "In fact, I think I'll call the station directly. Just to confirm this warrant. What was your badge number again?"

The taller officer's eyes narrowed. "We don't have time for this. You're coming with us now."

"I'm sure the Harmony Creek Police Department will be very interested to know that two of their officers are serving a fraudulent restraining order," I said, my thumb hovering over the dial button for the real police station, a number I had looked up an hour ago.

The two men exchanged a look. A flicker of panic crossed the stocky one's face.

"Let's go," the taller one said to his partner, his voice low and urgent.

They knew the game was up.

Before they could turn, I had already dialed. I put the phone on speaker.

"Harmony Creek Police, Sergeant Davis speaking."

The two fake cops froze, their faces draining of color.

"Sergeant Davis," I said, my voice loud and clear. "My name is Alex Miller. I'm at the Oakwood Motel, room 204. I have two men here impersonating police officers, attempting to intimidate me with a fake warrant. I have their descriptions and a badge number. They are here right now."

The fake cops looked at each other, then at me, then at the open door. Without another word, they turned and bolted. They scrambled down the walkway and disappeared around the corner.

I stayed on the line with Sergeant Davis, calmly explaining the situation. "I have a video recording of the entire encounter," I told him. "I'm sending it to you now."

As I spoke, I attached the video file to an email and sent it to the official police address. I described the men, their vehicle-a black sedan I'd glimpsed as they sped away-and the fraudulent documents they'd left behind.

After I hung up, a profound clarity washed over me. This was far bigger than just two small-time grifters like Brenda and Jake. Impersonating police officers, forging court documents-that required resources, connections. This was an organized syndicate. They had underestimated me. They thought I was just some detached tech guy they could easily roll over. They didn't realize that my entire career was built on finding flaws in systems, on seeing patterns others missed.

And I saw the pattern now. The bank, the house, the smear campaign, the fake cops. It was all connected. They weren't just trying to steal my house. They were trying to erase me.

I looked at my laptop, at the files of evidence I was compiling. This wasn't just a fight anymore. It was a hunt. And I was the hunter.