Chapter 9 - The Breakdown
My phone rang at exactly 7:30 the following morning.
I was sitting at my condo's kitchen table, sipping a cup of dark roast coffee and reviewing a quarterly sales report on my laptop. I looked down at the screen. Britt’s name flashed across the display, glowing beneath a frantic photograph she had set for her contact card years ago.
I let it ring out to voicemail.
Ten seconds later, my phone lit up again.
And again.
Four consecutive phone calls within a twenty-minute span. The digital desperation was palpable, vibrating against the smooth wooden surface of the table.
On the fifth call, she finally cracked and left a voice message.
When the audio recording popped up in my inbox, I tapped play. The confident, condescending younger sister who had arrogantly ordered me out of my own home was entirely gone. Her voice was thin, ragged, and thick with panic. She was actively crying, sniffling loudly between broken sentences.
"What... what did you do?" she stammered, her voice shaking violently. "Lucas... please pick up. What did you do to the house?"
She paused, letting out a sharp, choked sob before continuing, her tone shifting from terror to sheer disbelief.
"I just got a letter from the county... some kind of historic tax audit... an eleven-thousand-dollar bill? They’re saying it’s due in twelve days or they’re going to put a lien on the deed and shut off the water! What is this? What did you do?"
She repeated the question three times, each iteration carrying a slightly different emotional weight of horror and realization.
Twenty minutes later, Mom’s number flashed on the screen. I let that one go to voicemail too, declining to step into the middle of their sudden panic.
I set my coffee mug down, picked up my phone, and dialed my attorney’s direct line.
May you like
"It’s time," I said calmly.
He knew exactly what I meant.
