Chapter 6 - THE COUNTER-OFFENSIVE
By the following morning, the storm had officially broken.
True to my father’s prediction, when Dad turned my phone back on for thirty minutes under strict supervision, the screen exploded with notifications. There were fourteen missed calls from Ethan, six frantic voice notes from Helen alternating between weeping demands for us to "come back and stop this nonsense" and vicious threats about suing for grandparent’s rights, and three polite text messages from Ethan’s father attempting to mediate like a corporate fixer trying to sweep a scandal under the rug.
Dad listened to Helen’s voice note on speakerphone while buttering a piece of toast.
> “Camila, you ungrateful little brat! You are tearing this family apart! Ethan hasn’t eaten a proper breakfast because you took the blender, and your father is a deranged lunatic who belongs in a home! Bring the car back immediately or we will make sure you never see a dime of Ethan’s future inheritance!”
Dad calmly took a bite of toast, chewed, swallowed, and looked at me. “Inheritance. That’s adorable. The family’s primary assets are currently mortgaged up to the attic to pay off their country club debts and legal fees.”
“What should we do?” I asked, holding Noah as he happily gnawed on a teething biscuit in my lap.
“We do what any good strategist does when the enemy makes a panicked, uncoordinated charge,” Dad said, wiping his fingers with a napkin. “We let them overextend themselves.”
He stood up, walked over to his secure desk in the study, and brought back a thick manila folder. He laid it out across the kitchen table. Inside were printed bank statements, vehicle title documents, insurance policies, and text message screenshots I had saved over the past six months—every petty insult, every financial demand, every time Helen had confiscated my keys or locked the pantry.
“Arthur Vance reviewed your documents at 6:00 AM this morning,” Dad said, tapping a finger on the title registration. “The SUV is financed entirely under your name, with your independent bank account funding the monthly auto-draft. Ethan’s name is on the secondary lien because of a co-signing agreement we used for a discount interest rate two years ago—an agreement that is legally voidable given his material breach of marital support.”
“So the car is mine?”
“The car is 100% yours,” Dad confirmed. “Furthermore, Arthur has already filed an emergency petition for temporary sole custody, exclusive occupancy of our previous apartment lease (which we are breaking legally), and an immediate injunction freezing any joint accounts Ethan might try to raid.”
Before I could process the sheer speed of my father’s counter-offensive, the doorbell rang.
It wasn't a gentle chime. It was a sharp, aggressive, repeated hammering—the kind delivered by someone who believed their social status exempted them from basic politeness.
May you like
Dad exchanged a single, knowing glance with me.
“Stay here with Noah,” Dad said quietly, buttoning the cuffs of his shirt. “Let the general handle the advance guard.”
