Chapter 2: The Title
I didn't call Dad again.
Instead, I went to work.
Not because I could concentrate.
I couldn't.
I spent six hours at the coffee shop staring at the same register screen while my manager asked me twice if I was feeling sick.
Every time the front door opened, I looked outside.
Every silver car made my heart jump.
It was ridiculous.
The Civic wasn't special.
It had scratches along the rear bumper and a cracked cup holder.
The air conditioning barely worked.
One of the speakers buzzed when I turned the volume past six.
But Dad and I had bought it together.
I still remembered the smell of the dealership.
The cheap coffee.
The fluorescent lights.
Dad's hand on my shoulder.
“You're going to remember this day,” he'd said.
I had.
Apparently, so had Karen.
At 4:17 p.m., my phone buzzed.
A text from Dad.
*We need to talk tonight.*
I stared at the screen.
I typed:
*About the car?*
The typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Then:
*About everything.*
I read it three times.
At 5:03, I clocked out.
I didn't go home.
I drove with my coworker Jenna to the county records office.
She had been my friend since freshman year of college and had witnessed enough of my family drama to know better than to ask me to calm down.
As we sat in her car outside the building, she looked at me.
“You're sure you want to do this?””
“Yes.””
“What are you looking for?””
“The title.””
She frowned.
“Can't you just report the car stolen?””
“No.””
“Why not?””
“Because they sold it.””
“To whom?””
“I don't know.””
Jenna stared at me.
“So they sold your car, but you don't know who bought it?””
“That's what I'm trying to find out.””
She grabbed her coffee.
“Okay. That's officially weird.””
“I know.””
“And your dad knew?””
“Yes.””
“Okay.””
She took a sip.
“That's even weirder.””
I looked through the windshield.
“I think there's something they're not telling me.””
“Then let's find it.””
Inside the records office, I gave the clerk my driver's license and the vehicle identification number from an old insurance card saved in my email.
The clerk typed for several seconds.
Then she frowned.
“Are you the registered owner?””
“I was.””
She looked at the screen again.
“That's interesting.””
My stomach dropped.
“What?””
She leaned closer to her monitor.
“The transfer isn't listed under a standard private sale.””
“What does that mean?””
“It means the vehicle was transferred through a dealership.””
My heart began pounding.
“What dealership?””
She told me.
I recognized the name immediately.
It was the same dealership Madison had been talking about for months.
The one where she had supposedly bought her SUV.
I looked at Jenna.
She whispered, “No way.””
I turned back to the clerk.
“Can you tell me the sale amount?””
“I can give you the recorded transfer information.””
She printed the document.
I took it with both hands.
The paper felt strangely heavy.
The sale price was listed.
I stared at the number.
My Civic had been sold for $13,800.
Thirteen thousand eight hundred dollars.
I swallowed.
“That's more than enough for a down payment on an SUV.””
Jenna read over my shoulder.
“Emily…”
I kept reading.
Then I saw the date.
The sale had happened four days ago.
And below the sale information was another transaction.
A dealership purchase.
A new vehicle.
The amount financed.
I felt sick.
“Madison didn't just need transportation,” I whispered.
“What?””
“She traded my car in.””
Jenna looked at me.
“Then where's the SUV?””
I didn't answer.
Because I already knew.
My phone buzzed.
Dad.
I answered.
“Hello?””
“Where are you?””
“Out.””
“Emily, please come home.””
“No.””
“Please.””
“Dad, did Karen sell my car to the dealership?””
Silence.
“Dad?””
“Yes.””
The word came out barely above a whisper.
I closed my eyes.
“And Madison used it as a trade-in?””
“Yes.””
I felt something inside me crack.
“You let her?””
“I didn't realize how it was being handled.””
“You said you knew.””
“I knew Karen was selling the car.””
“You knew my car was being sold.””
“I didn't know she had already transferred the title.””
I laughed.
“Dad, what did you think ‘selling my car’ meant?””
He didn't answer.
I could hear traffic behind him.
Then he said, “There's something else.””
I looked at Jenna.
“What?””
“Come home.””
“No. Tell me now.””
“It's complicated.””
“Then explain it.””
Another pause.
Finally, he said:
“The title wasn't in your name.””
I froze.
“What?””
“The title.””
My fingers tightened around the printed document.
“The registration was in your name, but the original title was held in the family trust.””
“What family trust?””
Dad went quiet.
“Dad.””
“It's something your grandfather set up.””
“My grandfather?””
“Yes.””
“Why have I never heard of it?””
“I didn't think it mattered.””
Jenna was watching my face.
I whispered, “What does the trust have to do with my car?””
Dad took a breath.
“Your grandfather left assets for you.””
My heartbeat slowed.
“What assets?””
“I'll explain tonight.””
“No.””
“Emily—”
“I want to know now.””
“I can't do this over the phone.””
“Why?””
“Because Karen is here.””
My eyes narrowed.
“She's with you?””
“Yes.””
“Put her on.””
“No.””
“Dad, put her on the phone.””
“She doesn't want to talk.””
“Of course she doesn't.””
“Emily, please come home.””
I hung up.
Jenna stared at me.
“What did he mean?””
“I don't know.””
“What did your grandfather leave you?””
“I don't know.””
She pointed at the papers in my hand.
“Then I think you just found the reason Karen didn't want you digging.””
We went back inside.
The clerk had been organizing another stack of documents.
I approached her.
“Excuse me.””
“Yes?””
“There was something about a family trust.””
She looked at the paper.
“Are you asking about ownership records?””
“Yes.””
She typed again.
Then she stopped.
“Actually…”
She turned the screen slightly.
“There is an older transfer associated with this VIN.””
“To whom?””
She read the name.
“Michael Carter.””
My father's name.
I nodded.
“That's my dad.””
“But that's not all.””
She clicked again.
“There's a lien release from twelve years ago.””
“Twelve years?””
“Yes.””
She looked at me.
“Were you a minor then?””
“Yes.””
“That may explain why your father handled the title.””
My heart thudded.
Twelve years ago.
That was the year Mom died.
That was the year Dad married Karen.
I looked at the document again.
There was a second name attached to the transfer.
Not Karen.
Not Madison.
Someone else.
A trustee.
I copied the name into my phone.
Then I noticed something else.
The title transfer had been signed only four days ago.
But the signature looked nothing like my father's.
I took a photo.
“Can you print this too?””
The clerk hesitated.
“I can print the public record.””
She did.
I folded it carefully.
Jenna and I walked outside.
The sky had turned orange.
She unlocked her car.
“Where now?””
“Home.””
“You sure?””
“No.””
“But you're going?””
“Yes.””
She started the engine.
“You want me to come?””
I shook my head.
“This is my family.””
She looked at me.
“Sometimes that's exactly why you shouldn't be alone.””
I smiled weakly.
“Stay nearby.””
She nodded.
When I reached my house, Dad's truck was in the driveway.
So was Madison's new SUV.
It was enormous.
Black.
Shiny.
Perfect.
I parked Jenna's car across the street and walked toward the front door.
Before I could knock, I heard voices.
Karen.
And Madison.
“You promised she wouldn't find out about the account,” Madison said.
I stopped.
Account?
Karen answered in a whisper.
“She wasn't supposed to look at the title.””
“Well, she did.””
“She doesn't know what it means.””
“She will.””
“Not if your father does what he's supposed to do.””
Madison laughed.
“What if he doesn't?””
Karen didn't answer.
Then Madison said something that made my blood run cold.
“What if Emily finds out the money wasn't supposed to go to me?””
I slowly lowered my hand from the doorknob.
My pulse hammered in my ears.
Karen whispered,
“Then we have a much bigger problem.””
I backed away from the door.
The car wasn't the problem.
The money wasn't the problem.
There was an account.
And apparently, whatever was inside it had been meant for me.
I turned toward the street.
That's when I heard the front door open behind me.
“Emily?””
Dad.
I froze.
Then Madison's voice came from inside.
“She's here.””
I turned around.
My father stood in the doorway.
Behind him were Karen and Madison.
No one spoke.
Then Dad looked at the papers in my hand.
His face went pale.
“Where did you get those?””
I held them up.
“That's what I came here to ask you.””
Dad stepped outside.
“Emily, listen to me.””
“No.””
“Please.””
“No more secrets.””
Karen moved closer.
“Emily, you don't understand what you're looking at.””
I looked directly at her.
“Then explain it.””
She opened her mouth.
But before she could speak, Dad said something that made even Karen turn toward him.
“The account your grandfather left you wasn't supposed to be touched until you turned twenty-five.””
My mouth went dry.
I stared at him.
“I’m twenty-one.””
“Yes.””
“Then how did Madison get money from it?””
Nobody answered.
I looked at Karen.
Then Madison.
May you like
Then my father.
And slowly, horribly, I realized that the car wasn't the only thing they had sold.
