Mr. Harris Blamed Noah for Scratching His Car — Then the Boy Showed Him a Recording That Changed Everything
Chapter 3 — Rachel Doyle
Rachel worked for a local property management company.
For the past month, she had been visiting several homes in the neighborhood.
A development company was quietly trying to purchase properties along the street.
Mr. Harris had refused.
Twice.
Rachel had been polite about it.
But persistent.
“Why would she be here again?” Claire asked.
Mr. Harris shook his head.
“She said the last offer was final.”
Noah looked at the scratches.
“Maybe she came to talk to you.”
Mr. Harris watched the recording again.
Rachel never walked toward the front door.
She stayed near the car.
That bothered him.
Claire set the groceries down.
“Do we have any cameras?”
Mr. Harris looked toward the garage.
“Only the one over the driveway.”
They had installed it several months earlier after tools disappeared from a neighbor’s shed.
Mr. Harris rarely checked it.
He opened the security app on his phone.
The driveway camera had captured everything after Noah went inside.
At 3:31 PM, the yard was empty.
At 3:34, Rachel walked up the driveway.
Claire moved closer.
“There.”
Rachel stopped beside the car.
She looked around.
Then reached into her handbag.
Mr. Harris felt his anger returning.
But the next part confused him.
Rachel didn’t scratch the car.
She placed something under the windshield wiper.
Then she walked away.
“That’s it?” Noah asked.
Mr. Harris continued playing the recording.
Six minutes later, another person entered the driveway.
A man.
Baseball cap.
Gray sweatshirt.
He approached the windshield.
Removed whatever Rachel had left.
Then stared directly toward the house.
Claire whispered.
“Who is that?”
Mr. Harris didn’t know.
The man walked along the driver’s side.
He reached into his pocket.
Then dragged something across the door.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The exact white scratches appeared.
Noah stared at Mr. Harris.
Mr. Harris closed his eyes.
“Noah…”
“I told you.”
Mr. Harris nodded.
“You did.”
Then Claire pointed toward the man on the screen.
“Forget the scratches for a second.”
“Why?”
She zoomed in on his hand.
“What’s he holding?”
It wasn’t a key.
It was a small white envelope.
