Chapter 2 - The Repossession at Sunrise
The sun broke over the snow-covered suburbs at seven in the morning, pale and sharp as shattered glass. I was already awake, dressed in a thick wool sweater, sipping a dark roast while checking my firm's quarterly server logs. My phone, which had rested dormant for a few hours, erupted into life with a frantic, breathy voicemail from my mother.
"Emberly! Pick up! Oh sweet heaven, Emberly, there is a giant flatbed truck parked across the lawn! Your father is outside in his bathrobe screaming at two men with clipboards! They’re hooking chains to Serena’s bumper! Do something! Call someone and tell them you’re paying it!"
I didn't call back. But ten minutes later, Serena bypassed calling and went straight to FaceTime.
Curious to see just how deep their delusion ran, I swiped to accept the video.
The screen flickered, revealing Serena’s tear-streaked face. Her makeup from Christmas Eve was smeared in dark rings around her eyes, and her manicured hand was trembling violently against her camera lens. Behind her, out the front bay window of our childhood home, the scene was pure, unadulterated chaos.
A heavy-duty black wrecker had backed halfway up our parents’ manicured lawn, leaving deep, muddy ruts in the frozen grass. A burly tow operator in a bright neon vest was methodically locking wheel cradles around the rear tires of Serena’s pristine white luxury SUV.
Dad was out on the front steps, entirely unhinged. He was wearing his plaid flannel bathrobe and mismatched slippers, waving a rolled-up holiday greeting card in the driver's face like an eviction notice. Two neighbors across the cul-de-sac were pretending to sweep their front walks, shamelessly recording the entire spectacle on their smartphones.
"Emberly!" Serena shrieked through the speaker, her voice cracking into shrill hysteria. "Tell them! Tell them you're transferring the money right now! Dad showed them the bill on his phone and told them you're covering it, but the driver won't listen! He says the repossession order is active and your name isn't even on the account!"
"That's because my name isn't on the account, Serena," I said evenly. My voice sounded shockingly flat, even to my own ears.
"What is wrong with you?!" she sobbed, pressing the phone closer to the window as the hydraulic lift began to whine, hoisting the front end of her car four feet into the air. "They're taking my car! In front of the Hendersons! In front of everyone! How could you do this to our family on Boxing Day?!"
"I didn't take your car, Serena. You stopped paying for it six months ago. You bought a vehicle you couldn't afford on Dad's credit, spent your salary on designer clothes and trips to Aspen, and assumed you could dump the wreckage on me."
"Because you're rich!" she yelled, entirely dropping any facade of remorse. "You sit up in your fancy downtown loft hoarding your tech money while your own flesh and blood struggles! You owe us!"
Right then, Dad stormed back inside, slamming the heavy oak door so hard the glass pane rattled. He snatched the phone directly out of Serena’s hands, bringing his florid, furious face right up to the camera. His veins bulged against his temples, his silver hair wild.
"You listen to me, you ungrateful little brat," Dad snarled, his voice trembling with genuine venom. "I spent eighteen years putting a roof over your head. I made you who you are. You log onto your banking app this second and settle this repossession fee before that truck hits the county highway, or as God is my witness, you are completely dead to this family. You will never set foot in this house again."
I looked at the man who had dismissed every accomplishment I had ever earned, who had banished my computers to a freezing garage, who had excluded me from Christmas dinner and sent me a photo to gloat.
"Dad," I said softly, leaning into the mic. "I checked the deed to your house last night too. You pulled an equity line of credit against it to co-sign that loan, didn't you? If the car goes to auction and leaves a deficiency balance, the bank isn't just coming for Serena. They're coming for your home equity."
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Dad froze. The blood drained out of his face, leaving him sickly pale.
"Have a lovely holiday," I added, and tapped the red button to end the call.
