Officer Ortega held out her hand. “What’s your legal authority over the property?”
Daniel handed her the nonsense packet.
She looked at it once, flipped the top page, then looked back at him. “This isn’t valid.”
“It shows intent.”
“It shows a template,” she said. “Do you have a deed, trust appointment, power of attorney, court order, lease agreement, property management contract signed by the legal occupants, anything establishing authority?”
Daniel’s mouth flattened. “Claire is their daughter.”
Officer Ortega did not blink. “That wasn’t my question.”
While she dealt with him, the younger officer spoke quietly to my parents. My mother still had her phone clutched in one hand and her cardigan slipping off one shoulder. My father answered with that flat embarrassed precision of a man trying very hard not to sound like a victim.
“We went to the market,” he said. “Came back. Key didn’t work. He said the locks were changed. Said we’d have to stay away while he rented the place. Said if we tried to enter he’d call you.”
The younger officer’s face hardened a notch.