Chapter 2 - The Cost of Free Rides
I did not look up from my laptop immediately. I took a slow, measured sip of green tea, set the porcelain mug down on the slate coaster, and only then raised my gaze to meet Shay’s furious, disbelieving eyes.
"Where's my car?" she repeated, her voice pitching up into that shrill, accusatory register she reserved for service workers and store clerks who dared ask for identification. "The driveway is completely empty. I'm supposed to meet Chloe and Brianna for dinner downtown in forty-five minutes!"
"Your car?" I asked softly, tilting my head. "You don't own a car, Shay."
Her jaw slacked for a fraction of a second before hardening into an ugly sneer. "What are you talking about? Dad gave me that Lexus for my twentieth birthday!"
"Your father handed you the keys, yes," I corrected, leaning back into the ergonomic leather of my armchair. "He bought the oversized red ribbon at Party City for nine dollars. But the down payment was fifteen thousand dollars from my personal savings account. The thirty-six monthly payments of six hundred and eighty dollars came directly from my checking account. The vehicle title is registered under my legal name. The insurance policy lists me as the primary owner. Therefore, it is my car."
Color drained from Shay’s face, only to be replaced by a blotchy, mottled red. "You... you had it towed? Because of what happened on Sunday? Are you insane?"
"I simply had my property secured at a private storage facility," I said calmly. "After all, you made your position exceptionally clear at our dinner table two nights ago. You looked me in the eye and told me that you owe me nothing because I am not family. You reinforced it by informing me that I am merely some woman your father married."
"It was an argument!" she shrieked, taking a menacing step toward my desk. "People say things when they're angry! You don't steal someone's car over a disagreement!"
"It isn't theft to reclaim what belongs to me," I replied, my voice steady, devoid of the emotional plea she was accustomed to hearing. For four years, every boundary I attempted to set was softened by apologies, by attempts to placate her fragile pride so Darcy wouldn’t pout or accuse me of creating a hostile home. That woman was dead. She died somewhere between midnight and three in the morning over an open spreadsheet. "And as you pointed out, you owe me nothing. In turn, an unrelated adult owes you neither a luxury vehicle nor free transit. You may call an Uber."
"Give me the keys, Claire!" Shay lunged forward, slamming her manicured hands onto the edge of my polished oak desk. Papers fluttered. Her face was twisted with pure entitlement. "Give me the keys right now, or I'm calling my dad!"
"Please do," I said, gesturing toward the phone clutched in her hand. "Call Darcy. In fact, put him on speaker. I would love to hear how he intends to explain to you why a woman who is 'not family' should continue subsidizing your life."
Shay glared at me, her chest heaving with indignation. With trembling fingers, she unlocked her phone, hit Darcy's contact, and aggressively pressed the speaker icon.
The dial tone rang once. Twice. Then Darcy's voice boomed cheerfully through the tiny speaker. "Hey, baby girl! What's up? I'm just wrapping up a meeting with regional management."
"Dad!" Shay wailed, the transformation from venomous predator to helpless, victimized child taking less than a heartbeat. "Claire took my car! She had it towed right out of the driveway! She’s saying it’s hers and that she’s keeping it because of Sunday!"
A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the line. When Darcy spoke again, the warmth was completely stripped from his tone, replaced by the defensive, authoritarian gravel he always adopted when he felt his daughter was being challenged.
"Put Claire on the phone," Darcy commanded.
"She's right here," Shay hissed, angling the microphone directly toward me, a smug smirk twitching at the corner of her lips. She believed her father was the ultimate trump card. She had spent twenty-two years watching him rearrange the universe to shield her from the consequences of her own actions.
"Claire," Darcy said, his tone laden with condescending rebuke. "What is the meaning of this? Have you lost your mind? Tell me you didn't touch her car."
"I secured *my* car, Darcy," I said clearly. "The Lexus registered to Claire Montgomery. And I suggest you finish your meeting and come straight home. We have a great deal of business to discuss."
"You return those keys this instant, Claire!" Darcy barked, his voice rising in panic and fury. "Don't you dare humiliate my daughter like this! Do you hear me? Claire?!"
I reached out, pressed the red disconnect button on Shay's screen, and leaned back.
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"Now," I said, folding my hands in my lap. "I believe your forty-five minutes are ticking away. You had better see if your friends are willing to pick you up."
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