Chapter 2 - The Red and Blue Reflection
I did not scream, punch a wall, or drive over to my parents’ house to scream at empty air. Instead, I walked to my dining table, turned on the overhead light, and began pulling files from my home office. Within ten minutes, I had assembled neat, chronological rows of ironclad evidence: the original bill of sale, monthly bank statements proving every single loan payment came from my personal account, current insurance papers, and the state-issued title bearing my name and my name alone.
I called the local non-emergency line, explained the situation with precise, legal clarity, and requested an officer to meet me at the precinct dispatch point down the street.
When the responder arrived, a calm veteran named Officer Miller, he listened patiently as I laid out the facts. I showed him the title. I explained that my father had abused a spare emergency key. I emphasized that no transfer of ownership had ever been signed, discussed, or authorized.
Miller’s gaze sharpened when I dropped the next detail.
"Your brother has no valid license?" Miller asked, tapping his pen against his clipboard.
"Correct, Officer. It was suspended eighteen months ago after multiple reckless driving citations and unpaid speeding tickets."
"And he knows that?"
"He stood in front of a municipal judge who warned him that driving a motor vehicle would result in immediate felony arrest."
Miller’s expression hardened from casual professional duty to cold law enforcement resolve. "Let’s go find your car, Ms. Vance."
Minutes later, I sat in the passenger seat of an official cruiser, my phone mounted on the dash tracking the pulsing blue dot as it turned off Route 9 toward the bustling commercial strip by the river. Gas stations, chain restaurants, and discount superstores flashed past in a blur of neon lights waking up against the autumn dusk.
We turned into a crowded strip-mall parking lot without flicking on our sirens. We didn't need to announce our arrival just yet.
I spotted my pearl-white SUV immediately. It was parked atrociously, crammed crookedly across two painted parking spaces near the entrance of a crowded family restaurant. The driver’s door stood wide open, and leaning against the frame was my brother, Lucas, laughing loudly and gesturing wildly to a friend as though he were the proudest owner in the world.
"Dad finally made her share," Lucas boasted loudly enough for half the parking lot to hear. "She’ll whine about it for a day or two, then she’ll get over it. Old people and independent women just need to learn how to compromise."
His friend noticed the cruiser creeping slowly toward them first, his eyes widening in alarm.
Officer Miller shifted the cruiser into park, stepped out into the crisp evening air, and placed a hand calmly near his utility belt. "Step away from the vehicle, son."
Lucas blinked, offering the officer an easy, arrogant smile that he usually reserved for talking his way out of parking tickets. "Relax, Officer. It’s a family matter. My dad gave it to me. Everything’s handled."
Then I stepped out from the passenger side of the cruiser.
Lucas’s confident smile vanished instantly, replaced by a twitch of raw panic. "Elina?" he stammered, his voice cracking slightly. "What is this? You actually called the cops on your own family?"
"You stole my SUV, Lucas," I said, walking toward him with steady, measured steps.
"Dad gave it to me! I swear, ask him!"
"Dad does not own it," I snapped back. "My name is on the title, the loan, and the registration. You are driving on a suspended license, and you are standing next stolen property."
Passersby leaving the restaurant slowed down to watch the drama unfold under the flashing yellow lights of a nearby storefront sign. Lucas’s face flushed bright red with public humiliation, the exact opposite of what he had planned for his evening.
"Jessica is nine months pregnant," Lucas hissed, lowering his voice as he tried to guilt-trip me in front of the growing audience. "She needs to get to the clinic easily! You’re being vicious over a piece of metal!"
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Before I could answer, my phone buzzed violently in my hand.
Caller ID: Dad.
