Okay, so now I’m totally confused. What’s the common denominator on Jamie’s list, and why did he put it together?
If I knew who owned each house, it might tell me something, but unfortunately there’s no personal information available on the listings. I spend a few minutes googling how to find out who owns a particular piece of property, and though there are companies that purport to help you, they all charge a small fee for each search. Since I can’t tell if they’re legit, I don’t want to offer up my credit card details.
Giving myself a chance to think, I head to the kitchen, splash a bit more coffee into my mug, and then place a call to a guy named Kevin whom I met in my stint in human resources. Our department used to hire him to do sensitive background checks on certain job candidates.
“Hey, Kiki, what a surprise,” he says, sounding pleased to hear my voice.
I tell him how nice it is to connect after all this time and explain what I need his help with, though I refrain from explaining why. Experience has taught me that Kevin knows how to find out almost anything about anyone, so I’m not surprised when he assures me he can show me how to determine who owns a given piece of property.
“The one hitch,” he says, “is that California and Connecticut make it tough to find owners’ names, so in general, you gotta go through a back door. You start by logging on to the town’s website, then locate the link that takes you to property assessments, and then type in the address of the property you’re curious about. For tax reasons, the law requires that the value of a property be public, so the town needs to provide that information—along with the owner’s name.”
“Whoa, that seems complicated,” I say, though I’ve taken notes as he’s spoken.
“It’s not as hard as it sounds. I’ll show you—just give me one of the addresses.”
I recite the first one and hear Kevin’s computer keys clicking away.
“Here we go,” he says in next to no time. “You got your pen ready?”
“Yeah.”
“The owner’s name is Liam Larsson.”
I sit up straighter in my chair. I’m not sure what I was expecting to hear, but it wasn’t that. And though it’s not far-fetched that Liam would own a piece of property besides the house he and Tori live in, I can’t see why Jamie would have that house on a list.
“You still there?” Kevin asks.
“Yeah, just a little surprised.”
“Want me to try another?”
“If you don’t mind, that would be great.”
The next address I rattle off takes him longer, and while typing he explains that the websites for some towns are more advanced than others. Finally, the clicking stops.
“Okay, got it,” he says. “And, huh, guess what? It’s the same guy.”
“Liam Larsson?” A silly response because he just told me as much, but I’m startled.
“Yup.”
Kevin asks if he should continue, but since I don’t want to hijack any more of his time, I explain I’ll take it from here and thank him profusely. After we sign off, promising to meet for coffee this fall, I make my way through the list. I have no luck with the first house I try on my own, but the website I pull up for the fourth town on the list is simple enough to navigate, and I quickly locate the homeowner’s name. Liam Larsson.
I jump ahead to the two Florida apartments—one in Fort Myers, the other in Hallandale Beach—and the information I want pops up quickly. Liam owns these, too, each of them worth around $330,000. It’s possible, I realize, that he bought the one in Fort Myers for his son, Taylor, who moved there several years ago, though Tori had said he’d recently relocated to the Miami area. I check the distance between Miami and Hallandale Beach: nineteen miles.
I’ve still got a few properties to check, but there doesn’t seem to be any point in doing it right now. My guess is that Liam is the owner of those as well.
It’s hard to absorb the fact that Liam has so many properties. I’ve been in his home on a couple of occasions, and though he must make a decent living running his own business, nothing explains how he could have ended up possessing nine extra properties with a combined value of—I quickly calculate—approximately two and a half million dollars. Even if he’s receiving rental income from each place, where would he have found the money for the down payments? And why did his side career as a landlord never come up in the time I’ve known the family?
Jamie, I realize, must have asked himself these same questions after somehow pulling this list together. Had he then broached the subject with Liam? A faint siren of alarm goes off for me.
Before I do anything else, I need to let Sam know. I tap his name on my phone and when he answers with a rushed hello, I’m pretty sure from the background noise that he’s in his car.
“I know we said we’d talk at some point today,” I say, “but I’ve come across some information that couldn’t wait. It—it might be the reason why Jamie seemed troubled recently.”
“What is it?” Sam demands.
“It’ll take a minute—do you have the time now?”
