“What do you mean, a valid work order?” I asked, my voice shaking with anger.

Mr. Thompson nodded apologetically. “They showed the police the paperwork. Apparently, the Davises claimed you hired them to repaint while you were away.”

I felt my blood boil. “They forged my name on the work order?”

Mr. Thompson nodded. “Looks like it. I’m really sorry, Victoria. I tried to stop them, but they wouldn’t listen.”

“Let me see those pictures,” I said, my eyes narrowing.

I clenched my fists. “Of course they did.”

I checked my surveillance footage. And guess what? The Davises never set foot on my property. Clever. No trespassing. No charges. I called the police again, but they couldn’t do anything since the painters acted in good faith.

I was LIVID. How could these two nitwits do this to my house?

I needed a plan. I stormed back to my house and that’s when I saw it. The paint job was shoddy—traces of old yellow paint peeked through.

As an interior designer, I knew that the old paint should’ve been scraped off first.

I stormed to the painting company’s office with my ID and house documents.

“You painted my house without my consent and did a lousy job. This could ruin the house’s exterior. You know what… I’m gonna sue you,” I barked.

The manager, Gary, was aghast and trembled an apology before stammering, “But… but we thought it was your house.”

I furrowed my brows and yelled, “Of course, it’s MY HOUSE but I DIDN’T ask for any paint job.”

I was seething at this point and asked for a copy of the work order. Sure enough, it was in the Davises’ name. The manager was shocked when I told him what happened.

“Mr. and Mrs. Davis claimed it was their house and declined the scraping service to save money… said they’d be out of town and wanted it done while they were gone,” Gary explained.

I could feel my blood boiling. “And you didn’t think to verify any of this with the actual homeowner? You didn’t think to check the address or the ownership records?”

Gary looked genuinely apologetic. “We usually do, but they were so convincing. They even showed us pictures of your house, claiming it was theirs. I’m really sorry, ma’am.”

“And you didn’t check with anyone around? You just sent your men to paint my damn house??” I snapped.

Gary looked flustered. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We had no reason to doubt them.”

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my composure. “Well, now you know. And you’re going to help me make this right. This is beyond unacceptable, and someone needs to be held accountable.”