Chapter 1: The Empty Parking Space
The first thing I noticed when I pulled into my driveway was that my parking space was empty.
The second was my stepsister standing beside a brand-new luxury SUV, holding a set of keys that should never have been in her hands.
And the third was my stepmother smiling at me through the open kitchen window, as if she hadn't just stolen something I'd spent three years working to afford.
I slammed my car door out of habit.
Then I remembered.
There was no car to slam it on.
For three years, my silver Honda Civic had been the one thing in my life that belonged entirely to me. I'd bought it at twenty-two with money from working double shifts at a medical billing office, skipping vacations, packing lunches, and watching my friends spend their paychecks while I put mine into savings.
It wasn't flashy.
The air conditioner made a faint rattling noise in August. The passenger-side window sometimes needed a second push. The paint had a scratch near the rear bumper from a parking garage in downtown Columbus.
But it was mine.
Every dollar of the $12,400 I'd paid for it had come from my own account.
I had the title in my bedroom desk, tucked inside a folder with my insurance documents. I'd kept the receipt from the day I bought it, too, because I remembered how proud I'd felt walking into the dealership alone.
No cosigner. No loan from Dad. No favor from anyone.
Just me.
Now my parking space was empty, and Kayla was circling a black Mercedes-Benz GLE as if she'd just won a prize on a game show.
"Monica!"" I shouted through the open window.
"Where's my car?""
My stepmother appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
She was wearing her favorite cream-colored sweater, the one she reserved for church lunches and family photographs. Her expression was so calm that, for one bewildered second, I wondered whether my car had been moved for some practical reason.
Perhaps a neighbor needed access to the driveway.
Perhaps Dad had taken it to the mechanic.
Perhaps—
"I sold it," Monica said.
Three words.
No apology. No explanation.
Just three words delivered with the casualness of someone telling me she'd donated an old lamp.
I stared at her.
"You what?""
"I sold your Honda."" She tossed the dish towel over her shoulder.
"Kayla needed reliable transportation, and that little sedan was just sitting here most of the day.""
I looked at Kayla.
She was wearing oversized sunglasses and a fitted beige jacket. Her blond hair fell in perfect waves over her shoulders, and she had already propped her phone against the Mercedes' hood to take pictures.
My Honda had never sat around doing nothing. I drove it to work five days a week. I drove it to the grocery store, to appointments, and to the evening classes I'd taken to qualify for a promotion.
The only reason it had been parked all afternoon was that I was at work.
"Monica, I use that car to get to my job.""
She gave me a patient smile.
"And you have legs, sweetheart. There's a bus stop two blocks away.""
For a moment, I couldn't find a single word.
I had spent years trying to make life easier for everyone in this house. When Monica moved in after marrying Dad, I'd given up the larger bedroom because Kayla said she needed the extra closet space. When Monica wanted to replace the living room furniture, I'd helped carry the old pieces into storage.
I'd even covered the electric bill twice when Monica claimed her bank account had been temporarily frozen.
I'd never asked for the money back.
But this?
This was my car.
"You had no right to sell it," I said.
Monica's smile disappeared.
"Don't start being dramatic.""
"Where is the money? Who did you sell it to? Did you sign my name on anything?""
"Lower your voice.""
"Answer me!""
Kayla finally looked up from her phone.
"Oh my God, Olivia. You don't have to scream just because something didn't go your way.""
I turned toward her.
"You knew about this?""
She slid her sunglasses onto the top of her head.
"Mom told me she was handling it.""
"Handling it how? By selling my car without asking me?""
Kayla shrugged and held up the Mercedes keys.
"Look, you should be happy somebody bought your old sedan. It wasn't exactly a dream car.""
She pressed a button on the key fob.
The Mercedes flashed its lights.
My stomach tightened.
"How much did you pay for this?"" I asked.
Kayla's face brightened immediately.
"Ninety-six thousand eight hundred dollars. Before taxes and all the extras.""
I stared at her.
"You're twenty-four. You work three days a week at a salon. How are you paying for a ninety-six-thousand-dollar SUV?""
"Mom took care of it.""
I turned back to Monica.
"You sold my twelve-thousand-dollar car to buy her a ninety-six-thousand-dollar SUV?""
Monica folded her arms.
"Don't make it sound so ugly. Kayla has a future to think about. Her clients expect a certain image, and she needs a dependable vehicle for work.""
"I work full-time!""
"And you have a perfectly good bus route.""
The cruelty wasn't in her words alone. It was in the way she said them, as if she had already decided that my time, my work, and my independence were less valuable than Kayla's appearance.
I stepped closer.
"Give me the buyer's information.""
"No.""
"The sale documents, then.""
"They're being handled.""
"By whom?""
"Olivia, enough.""
She turned toward the kitchen, signaling that the conversation was over.
I followed her inside.
"Did you forge my signature?""
That stopped her.
For a fraction of a second, her hand froze above the counter.
Then she turned slowly.
"How dare you accuse me of a crime?""
"Because you sold something you didn't own!""
Kayla appeared behind us, carrying a sparkling bottle of water she'd apparently taken from the refrigerator.
"Mom, just give her some money and let her buy another cheap car.""
I looked at her in disbelief.
"You think this is about buying another car?""
She laughed.
"What else is it about? You lost a car. Get over it.""
I felt my eyes burning, and I hated that she could see it.
I hated even more that Monica looked satisfied.
She had always known how to make me feel childish for objecting to something unfair. Whenever Kayla wanted something, it was an investment in her future. Whenever I needed something, it was an inconvenience.
When Kayla failed a class in college, Dad paid for a tutor.
When I earned a scholarship, Monica said I was lucky the school had accepted me.
When Kayla wanted a birthday trip to Miami, the family budget somehow stretched to accommodate her.
When I asked Dad if he could help me with a security deposit on my first apartment, Monica reminded me that responsible adults didn't depend on their parents.
So I stayed home, saved my money, and bought my Honda.
I'd thought the car meant I was finally free of their double standards.
Apparently, Monica had other ideas.
"I'm calling Dad," I said.
Her expression changed.
"Your father is at work.""
"He'll want to know what you did.""
"Don't drag him into a disagreement between women.""
"A disagreement?"" I repeated.
"You sold my property!""
"Olivia, if you make a scene, you'll regret it.""
There it was.
Not an explanation.
A threat.
I took my phone from my purse.
Monica stepped toward me.
"Put that away.""
"No.""
"You're being selfish.""
I almost laughed.
Then I saw Kayla's phone screen.
She was recording me.
"Are you seriously filming this?"" I asked.
"People should see how you act when you don't get your way.""
I turned away before she could capture my tears.
I went upstairs to my room, shut the door, and opened the folder where I kept my car documents.
The title was gone.
So was the original bill of sale.
I pulled open the desk drawer, searched beneath my tax returns, and emptied a stack of envelopes onto the floor.
Nothing.
My hands began to shake.
Monica hadn't simply taken the car.
She'd taken the paperwork, too.
I called Dad.
He didn't answer.
I sent him a text.
Please call me immediately. Monica sold my car without my permission. Something is very wrong.
Then I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at the empty driveway through my window.
A few minutes later, Kayla's laughter drifted up from downstairs.
I heard the Mercedes engine start.
I heard her tell Monica she wanted to drive to the mall.
And I heard Monica say, "Go ahead, sweetheart. You've earned this.""
I pressed my palms against my eyes.
My car was gone.
My documents were gone.
And the two people responsible seemed to believe I'd eventually accept it.
Then my phone vibrated.
It was a message from an unknown number.
Olivia, if Monica sold your Honda today, you need to find out who actually received the money.
May you like
A second message arrived before I could respond.
Because the buyer didn't pay her.
