Chapter 3 - The Forged Confession
I stared at the screen for two seconds before swiping to answer and hitting the speaker button, holding the phone out so Officer Miller and the gathered bystanders could hear every single decibel.
My father did not ask if I was safe. He did not ask why police lights were illuminating the night sky around his precious son. Instead, he barked into the receiver like a drill sergeant.
"Tell that cop to leave my son alone right now, Elina! The SUV belongs to him legally, and you’re making a fool of yourself over nothing!"
Officer Miller stepped closer, looking down at the title in his hand before glancing at Lucas, who looked like a trapped rat.
"Sir," Miller spoke clearly into my phone's mic, "this vehicle is registered to Elina Vance. Unless you have a legally binding bill of sale signed by her, your son is currently operating a stolen motor vehicle on a suspended license."
Dad’s voice escalated, sharp and furious through the speaker. "Not anymore! Check the glove compartment, Officer! I prepared the transfer papers myself this morning!"
Lucas’s eyes went wide, and he suddenly lunged forward toward the open driver’s door of my SUV, desperate to grab something from inside before the police could inspect it.
Officer Miller reacted with lightning speed, extending one heavy arm and firmly pressing Lucas back against the side panel of the vehicle. "Stay exactly where you are, son. Do not move another muscle."
Miller reached past Lucas, opened the glove compartment, and pulled out a manila envelope.
Through the phone speaker, my father gave a triumphant, self-satisfied little laugh.
"There!" Dad crowed. "See? She signed it over this morning! It’s a legal gift form!"
Officer Miller carefully opened the envelope, pulled out a notarized state vehicle gift transfer form, and laid it flat against the hood of the cruiser under the harsh amber streetlights. My name was printed neatly across the signature line at the bottom.
And directly beside it was my signature.
I stared down at the paper, my breath catching in my throat. It looked remarkably close to my actual handwriting. The loops of the E, the sharp slant of the V—someone had practiced it carefully. But I knew with absolute, terrifying certainty that I had never held that pen, never visited a notary, and never surrendered ownership of my vehicle.
Then my father uttered the sentence that sealed his fate, broadcasting his crime to every single person standing in that parking lot.
"I signed your name for you because I knew you’d be selfish and stubborn about it," Dad declared proudly over the speaker. "The notary is a friend from my bowling league. It’s entirely legal."
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The parking lot went dead silent, save for the hum of the restaurant’s neon sign.
Officer Miller slowly raised his head, turning his gaze away from the forged document and fixing it entirely on Lucas, who had just turned the color of spoiled milk. Without breaking eye contact with my brother, Miller reached down to his shoulder strap, clicked his police radio to an active dispatch channel, and called for backup and a transport unit.
