I called his wife.Her name was Loretta. She had left him fourteen months earlier and moved two towns over, but Desmond told everyone she was “visiting her sister.” I knew otherwise because Loretta had told me herself, crying over the fence the week she packed her car while he was at work.
What Desmond did not know was that the driveway, the concrete, and the workers were all crossing a disputed strip of property. And that strip belonged to Loretta, not him. When they bought the two lots years ago, she had held the deed to the corner parcel. Her lawyer had been trying for a year to make her sign it over during their divorce. She refused. So when I told Loretta what Desmond was doing, she simply said, “Send me a photo of the truck and workers.”
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