Standard procedure in an eviction. A neutral party to confirm I hadn’t done anything illegal. That I wasn’t throwing their stuff on the lawn or changing locks while they were in the shower.
The deputy was the same woman from the jewelry incident.
“Afternoon,” she said, hat tucked under her arm. “Let’s take a look.”
We walked through the house together.
Tracy tried one last tactic.
“She damaged my belongings,” she sniffed. “When the movers were going through my room, she told them to rush and they broke my things—”
“Ma’am,” the deputy said flatly, “there are cameras in this house. If you’d like to file a report for property damage, we can review the footage.”
Tracy shut her mouth so fast her teeth clicked.
We ended the walkthrough in the foyer.
“Everything looks in order,” the deputy said. She turned to me. “You did this by the book. Good job.”
Tracy stood on the porch with her kids, surrounded by boxes. The SUV she’d bragged about being “hers” sat in the driveway. In reality, it was leased under my dad’s company.
He’d already called the dealership. They were sending someone to retrieve it next week.
“Hope Tampa’s nice,” I said lightly.
She glared at me.