The room erupted in applause. I was shaking hands with a local journalist when the energy in the room shifted. A drop in pressure. The front door swung open, and the jazz seemed to fade into the background.
Linda walked in first, dressed for church. Megan followed, looking petulant in a borrowed jacket. And behind them, lingering at the threshold as if the floor might swallow him, was my father.
They hadn’t come to celebrate. They had come to collect.
Cliffhanger: Megan walked straight up to me, ignoring the fifty guests, and hissed, “So you had money for a fancy office and wine, but you let them repossess my car?”
Chapter 8: The Tassel and the Truth
The room went silent. The clink of ice in glasses stopped. My clients and colleagues watched as my sister attempted to turn my sanctuary into her courtroom.
“The car I co-signed for as a favor?” I said, my voice carrying with the clarity of a woman who no longer feared the answer. “The car you drove to the room you stole from me? The night you didn’t even ask if I had a place to sleep?”
