"Look," Al said, softening slightly. "I can’t buy it to flip. But if it’s over twelve years old, I can scrap it under a T1 form. You’ll get four hundred bucks. Enough for a bus pass and a stiff drink."
"Lost," Elias lied, his voice thin. "But I have the bill of sale. Handwritten."
Elias looked out at the sedan. It was worth four times that, but legal limbo was a hungry beast. He reached for the pen. "Four hundred," he sighed. "I'll take it."