Proof of Address

A skip tracer who has found 2,347 people knows what a clean trail looks like.

He also knows what a manufactured one looks like. And when a routine inheritance case resolves in four hours — landing on the address of his own neighbor — Reuben Sistare doesn't file the paperwork and cash the check. He starts counting the things that don't add up.

Cass Delahay has lived two doors down for eight quiet years, building a life that arrived by mail: a lease from a company she never met, rent drawn from an account she never funded, a town where no one knew her face. She told herself quiet was the same as hidden.

The man who killed her mother has been living at 445 Hollis Lane for eight months. He knows her schedule. He knows her grocery day. He knows the hour she sits on the porch. He hasn't moved yet — because Dale Kittrell is patient in the way that forensic psychologists flag in bold type.

What Reuben finds when he starts pulling threads is not an inheritance. It is a fourteen-year conspiracy built from forged documents, a dead man's handwritten instructions, a three-million-dollar lie told out of love, and one devastating assumption: that the right watcher, placed next to the right woman, would see what was coming before it arrived.

The assumption was correct. The timing may not have been.

Proof of Address is a taut, intimate thriller about the architecture of disappearance — who builds it, who dismantles it, and what it costs when both happen at once. For readers who want a thriller that earns every revelation the slow way, through the steady accumulation of details that were always there.

Every address on Hollis Lane tells a story. Some of them are true.