Chapter 2 - The House of Cards
The tow truck arrived fifteen minutes later, its yellow strobe lights casting chaotic flashes across the brick facade of the discount store. My pearl-white SUV was winched onto the flatbed with a metallic groan that felt oddly satisfying—the sound of my property returning to where it belonged.
I filled out the remaining incident reports in the front seat of the cruiser, my fingers surprisingly steady. The responder, a veteran named Officer Miller, handed me a yellow carbon copy of the report along with the forged transfer document secured in an evidence bag.
"You realize what this means, Ms. Prescott," Miller said, looking over at me with a mix of professional sympathy and caution. "With the forged signature, this moves past a simple civil dispute over borrowed property. We’re looking at felony uttering of a forged instrument, identity theft, and grand larceny. Your father admitted on a recorded line that he executed the signature."
"I know," I replied quietly.
"Once we file these charges, there's no walking it back. It goes straight to the district attorney."
"I don't plan on walking anything back."
Officer Miller dropped me off three blocks from my apartment building. I walked the rest of the way under the freezing autumn sky, my breath pluming in the dark. By the time I unlocked my front door, my phone had accumulated twenty-seven missed calls and a barrage of frantic text messages.
Most were from my mother.
How could you do this to your own flesh and blood?
Lucas is sitting in a holding cell!
Call your father immediately, he's beside himself.
Then came a text from Dad himself, short and dripping with venom: You've gone too far this time, Elina. Don't ever expect us to speak to you again.
I stared at the screen, a strange, hollow lightness spreading through my chest. For years, being disowned by them had been my greatest terror. It was the threat they hung over my head whenever I dared to establish a boundary. Now, looking at the screen, it felt like an invitation to a brand-new life.
May you like
I tossed my phone onto the kitchen counter, walked over to the stove, and turned on the kettle. Before the water could even begin to whistle, a loud, violent pounding shook my front door.
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