Our neighbour forged a tree-removal contract and demanded $4,200 cash on our driveway

I was halfway up the driveway, wrestling a bag of mulch from the boot, when Gavin Reeves stepped out from behind the hedge like he’d been waiting for me. He had that look—the one that says *I’ve got you, and you know it*—and he was holding a piece of paper.

“Mia. Good timing. I need the money by Friday.”

He shoved the paper at me. It was a single typed page, headed *Tree Removal Contract—Chen Property, 14 March 2024*. Below that, a description of work: prune back the overhanging eucalypt, remove three dead limbs, chip and haul away. Below that, a total: $4,200. And at the bottom, a signature that looked like someone had traced my name from a birthday card. The ‘M’ was wrong—too round, too careful.

“I never signed this.”

Gavin’s smile didn’t shift. “You did. Last Tuesday. I left it with you, you brought it back signed. Work’s done. Paid my guys already, so I need the cash.”

I hadn’t even been home last Tuesday. I’d been at Mum’s place in Brunswick, helping her pack for the move to aged care. The eucalypt was still there, untouched, every dead limb still hanging. I pointed up. “Gavin, you didn’t do any work.”

“I pruned the lower canopy. You wouldn’t notice from here.”

That’s when I felt the floor drop out. The police station is three blocks away. He’d called them before he cornered me, I realised later. He’d told them I was a flight risk, that I’d stolen services worth thousands.

Detective Constable Priya Nair arrived twenty minutes later. She was calm, unhurried, asked me to show her the tree. She walked around it once, looked up, then looked at Gavin. “Mr Reeves, you say you pruned the lower canopy. Which limbs exactly?”

Gavin pointed vaguely. “The ones over the fence, the dead ones.”

“They’re still there,” Detective Nair said. She took the contract from my hand and held it up to the light. Then she peeled back a corner of the signature area, gently, with one fingernail. A thin white line appeared. She peeled further and the signature lifted away from the page—a photocopy, glued on.

Detective Nair didn’t say anything for a long moment. She just looked at Gavin.

Gavin’s face went pale, then red. He jabbed a finger at me. “She doctored it! She must’ve swapped the page after I left it with her. I’ll take you to VCAT. I’ll report you for fraud. You think you can just—”

“Mr Reeves,” Detective Nair said, her voice flat. “Forgery is a criminal offence in Victoria. This document is evidence now. I’d advise you to stop talking.”

She turned to me. “Ms Chen, I recommend you apply for a restraining order. He’s not to contact you about this again.”

Gavin was already walking back to his house, phone pressed to his ear. Probably calling a lawyer. Or someone else he could forge a contract for.

Detective Nair handed me her card. “Keep it. If he shows up again, call me direct.”

I folded the card into my pocket and stood there, staring at the eucalypt. Still full of dead limbs. Still exactly where it had always been.

But now I knew what a forgery looked like when you held it up to the light.