Silas leaned against the fender. "And then there’s me. I’ve got the patience to deal with the bonded title process. It takes months, a lot of fees, and a background check to prove it’s not stolen. Most people value their time too much to do it. I don’t."

"My granddad left it to me when he passed," Leo said, kicking a flat tire. "But we can't find the paperwork anywhere. The DMV told me I was out of luck because the estate is a mess. I just need it gone."

"I'll give you eight hundred," Silas said. "I take the risk, I do the heavy lifting, and I deal with the headache."

As Silas winched the Ford onto his flatbed, he smiled. By tomorrow, the truck would be stripped. The doors and bed would go to a body shop, the engine would go to a mechanic, and the frame would be sold for scrap. By the end of the week, the truck that "didn't exist" would be responsible for putting three other trucks back on the road.

The seller, a nervous kid named Leo, stood by a 1998 Ford F-250. The body was straight, but the paint was sun-bleached to the color of a bone.