Chapter 192 | What Are You Doing In My Home?

Chapter 192: 192 | What Are You Doing In My Home?

Dexter opened the car door, sat down and then started the engine.

However, a figure suddenly appeared in front of the vehicle.

Dexter’s foot paused over the accelerator.

A muscular man stood directly in his path and his face was set in an aggressive scowl as he glared at Dexter through the glass.

"Who are you?" the man demanded with a loud voice. "What were you doing inside my building?"

Dexter was stunned.

He turned off the engine, opened the door, and stepped out.

"Your building?"

The man’s scowl deepened.

He moved from the front of the SUV to the passenger side, closing the distance between himself and Dexter like he Wa about to fight.

"So you’re one of those people," the man sneered. "One of those people who break into houses and squat there for free once they see it’s empty."

He pulled out his phone.

"I’m calling the cops on you right now."

Dexter’s stomach dropped.

But it wasn’t from fear but sinking else entirely as realization began to hit him.

’No.’

He raised both hands calmly. "Hold on. There’s a misunderstanding."

He turned back to the SUV, reached into the center console where he had placed the documents, and pulled out the leather folder Marcus had given him and then opened it as he held it out toward the man.

"Look. I have documents. From Harvest Homes. I signed a purchase agreement. I have a deed. I have keys."

The man looked at the documents. His eyes scanned the Harvest Homes letterhead and a few things.

Slowly, his scowl faltered as he frowned in confusion, shich caused him to Lowe his phone and cut off the call he was making.

"Harvest Homes doesn’t deal with properties in this neighborhood," the man said slowly. "This estate is managed by Crestline Properties. They’re the exclusive sales agent for this development. Harvest Homes has no authority to sell anything here."

Dexter’s face changed and the feeling in the pit of his stomach grew even more.

"What about the key?" Dexter said, his voice tight. "The key opened the door. The key you gave me opened the door."

He was talking to himself now as much as to the man.

’The key worked and the door opened which meant that the property exists and the sale was real. Right?’

But deep down, he knew he had been scammed.

One million dollars,transferred less than an hour ago.

The man was looking at Dexter with an expression that had shifted from suspicion to pity.

He had clearly seen the name. Dexter Ashford and knew who he was, the one the news had been talking about. The one married to three crippled women.

"Look," the man said, his voice softer now. "I don’t know why you have my key. I just bought this house last month. I’m still moving in. Can I have the key back? I feel uncomfortable with someone else having a key to my home."

Dexter stared at the man. His mind was racing rapidly.

’Harvest Homes is a real company. A registered business. They can’t just disappear. Their office is in the mid-district. Their building exists. Their employees exist. Marcus Webb exists.’

’Even if the sale was fake, the scammer is still there. Still reachable. Still findable.’

"And as for Harvest Homes," the man continued, his voice hardening, "I’ll be reporting them to the appropriate authorities. If they have keys to my house, they might have keys to other people’s houses in this neighborhood too. This won’t stand."

Dexter nodded numbly.

"Let me make a call," he said.

He pulled out his phone. Found Marcus’s number in the documents and pressed dial.

The phone rang and then the call connected.

"Hello, yes, you’re speaking to Marcus."

The familiar, cheerful voice. The same warm tone the man had used while shaking Dexter’s hand and sliding documents across his desk.

"Marcus," Dexter said. "This is Dexter. Dexter Ashford. The man you just sold a house to in Edge District 3."

A pause on the line.

"I’m having a problem," Dexter continued, keeping his voice level. "There’s another man standing in front of me right now. He claims to be the owner of the house. He says he bought it last month from a different agency."

Silence on the line.

Then Marcus laughed.

It was not the professional, warm laugh Dexter had heard in the office. This was different. It was cold and sinister. The laugh of a man who had been waiting for this moment and found it amusing.

"Oh!" Marcus said, his voice bright with genuine delight. "You actually met the owner! That’s quite fortunate. I was thinking of stringing you along for two or three months. Collecting a few more payments. Maybe two or three million more before you realized."

Dexter’s blood went cold.

"What do you mean by that?"

Marcus’s tone shifted. The warmth vanished entirely. What replaced it was the casual, unconcerned voice of a man who had done this before and knew there would be no consequences.

"What can I say? It has nothing to do with me. It has everything to do with your family."

He paused.

"Courtesy of the Ashford family."

The words landed like a hammer blow.

"No home agency in their right mind would ever sell you a home," Marcus continued, his voice carrying the smug confidence of someone who knew they were untouchable. "Everybody knows the Ashford family controls this city. And they’ve spoken. If you need a home, we can simply take your money and sell you a fake one."

Dexter’s grip on the phone tightened. His knuckles went white.

"Aren’t you scared of the authorities?" Dexter asked. His voice was quiet. Controlled. But something beneath it was beginning to fracture.

Marcus laughed again. Longer this time. More genuine.

"The authorities? Are you truly that ignorant? The Ashford family controls over half the authorities in this city. The only thing they don’t control is the Hero Association. And the Hero Association will never involve itself in personal matters. Especially family feuds."

His voice dropped, becoming almost conversational.

"So there is nothing you can do."