Chapter 2 - The Cold Awakening
I didn’t look up from my laptop right away. I calmly highlighted a paragraph in my client contract, took a slow sip of lukewarm chamomile tea, and finally set the porcelain mug down on the glass coaster.
"I asked you a question," Shay snapped, her voice pitching into that sharp, familiar whine that usually made her father jump through hoops. "Where is my car?"
"Your car?" I asked, keeping my voice utterly level. "You don't own a car, Shay."
Her face went crimson. She walked over to the coffee table, planting her hands on her hips, her manicure gleaming under the recessed lighting. "Stop playing games. The Audi. It was parked right outside two hours ago, and now it’s gone. Did someone steal it? Did you leave the gate open?"
"Nobody stole anything," I said, meeting her furious glare. "The dealership sent a transport truck to retrieve it at three o'clock. The lease agreement was in my legal name, funded directly from my personal checking account. Since I terminated the agreement this morning, the vehicle went back to the lot."
For five full seconds, Shay just blinked at me. It was like her brain couldn't process English.
"You did what?" she gasped, her voice cracking. "That's my car! Dad gave me that car for my twenty-first birthday!"
"Your dad handed you the keys with a red bow," I corrected gently, closing my laptop screen with a quiet, decisive click. "I was the one who signed the four-year lease, paid the twelve-thousand-dollar down payment, covered the monthly nine-hundred-dollar installments, and paid the comprehensive insurance policy. Your father didn't pay a single dime toward it."
"You're lying!" she shrieked, clutching her phone like a lifeline. "You're just trying to get back at me because I told the truth yesterday! Dad said you wouldn't pull this kind of psycho vindictive crap!"
"Yesterday, in front of my entire family, you made it abundantly clear that I am nobody to you," I reminded her, standing up to my full height. "You said I was just some woman your father married. And you were right, Shay. I am not your mother. And because I am not your mother, I have zero legal or moral obligation to sponsor an entitled twenty-three-year-old woman who treats my hospitality like trash."
"I'm calling Dad," she choked out, her hands shaking with rage as she jabbed at her phone screen. "You can't just take my stuff! He's going to make you bring it back right now!"
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"Call him," I said quietly, walking toward the hallway. "In fact, put him on speaker. I'd love to hear how he plans on paying that monthly note on his salary alone."
She was already dialing, pacing the living room rug, tears of pure fury spilling over her eyelashes as the phone rang.
