Chapter 3 - The Driveway Confrontation
""Get your purse, Paige,"" Monica hissed, her voice turning completely venomous as she abandoned all attempts at playing the victim. ""We are leaving. We are not going to stand here and be humiliated by ungrateful people who clearly care more about bookkeeping than family loyalty.""
""Don't you dare walk out of that door,"" Dad warned, stepping directly into the hallway to block the foyer.
""Get out of my way, Thomas!"" Monica snarled. ""You don't own me, and you certainly don't own my car!""
""Actually,"" Grandma Helen chimed in from the dining table, her voice eerily calm as she adjusted her spectacles, ""the car title is registered in your name and Thomas's name jointly, isn't it? Since Thomas co-signed the financing paperwork for the remaining loan balance, he owns exactly half of that vehicle. And considering the down payment was paid with stolen funds intended for Eliza, that vehicle is subject to a legal freeze the second I file a police report for check fraud.""
Monica spun around, her eyes bulging. ""You wouldn't dare call the police on your son's wife! Think of the scandal! Think of your family's reputation!""
""My reputation survived thirty years of Dallas school board meetings, Monica,"" Grandma replied with a frosty smile. ""It will easily survive putting a thief in her place.""
Without another word, Monica grabbed Paige’s arm and shoved past my father, barreling through the front door. The screen door slammed shut behind them with a violent bang that rattled the frame. Dad didn't hesitate; he marched right out onto the front porch after them, with Uncle Robert and me following close behind.
The humid Texas air hit us like a wall. The street was quiet, framed by massive oak trees and the manicured lawns of elderly neighbors who were beginning to peek through their blinds at the commotion.
Monica was fumbling with her keys, practically shoving Paige into the passenger seat of the white Civic. ""Get in! Lock the door!""
""Give me the keys, Monica,"" Dad said, walking down the brick steps with deliberate, measured strides.
""Touch this car and I swear to God I'll call the cops on you for domestic harassment!"" Monica screamed, her voice carrying down the entire block. Her polished hair was falling into her eyes, and her mascara had begun to run. ""You think you're so righteous? You haven't paid attention to our finances in five years! You handed everything over to me because you were too lazy to balance a spreadsheet! If I hadn't moved money around, we would have lost the house two summers ago!""
Dad stopped at the driver's side door, his jaw set like iron. ""Is that another lie, Monica? Or did you steal from our equity, too?""
Monica froze. For a fraction of a second, a flicker of pure terror crossed her eyes. It was tiny, almost imperceptible, but Dad saw it. Uncle Robert saw it. And I saw it.
""What did you do to the house, Monica?"" Dad asked, his voice sinking into a dangerous whisper.
""Nothing! You're being paranoid! Let go of the handle!"" She yanked the car door open, threw herself into the driver’s seat, and fired up the ignition. The engine roared to life. She threw the transmission into reverse, tires screeching against the concrete driveway as she whipped the car backward into the street.
Dad had to jump back onto the grass to avoid being clipped by the side mirror. Paige sat curled up in the passenger seat, her head buried in her knees, refusing to look out the window. With another squeal of rubber, Monica shifted into drive and floored the accelerator, speeding down the suburban street until her red taillights disappeared around the curve.
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Dad stood in the middle of the empty street for a long, agonizing minute. The evening crickets were buzzing in the grass. He looked down at his shoes, then turned around to look at me. His shoulders slumped, the adrenaline draining out of him, leaving behind the hollow shell of a completely broken man.
""Eliza,"" he choked out, his voice cracking into tears. ""I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry.""
