Chapter 4 - SEVENTY-NINE MISSED CALLS
At 9:26 AM, my phone screen lit up.
INCOMING CALL: CHLOE
I didn't answer. I simply pressed the side button, silencing the ringer, and placed the phone face-down on the granite kitchen counter.
Ten seconds later: INCOMING CALL: CHLOE. Silenced.
At 9:28 AM: INCOMING CALL: MOM. Silenced.
At 9:30 AM: INCOMING CALL: DAD. Silenced.
What followed over the next forty-five minutes was a psychological meltdown of epic proportions. The family that had spent weeks plotting to secretly occupy my home was now drowning in chaotic panic.
Through my doorbell camera, I watched Chloe pacing back and forth in my hallway like a frantic animal. She was stomping her feet, screaming into her phone, and clutching her head.
“Mom! She’s not answering!” Chloe shrieked into her phone speaker. “The key doesn't work! There’s a digital lock on her door! And the moving truck is stuck down at the gate! The guards won't let Mom and Dad in!”
Flynn was leaning against my wall, looking utterly defeated, surrounded by four massive boxes. “Call her again! Tell her it’s an emergency!”
“I’ve called her twelve times!” Chloe sobbed. “She isn't picking up! Is she dead?! Is she in a meeting?!”
I sat at my dining table, casually opening my financial spreadsheets, tracking market trends while my family lost their minds outside my door. Every few minutes, my phone screen flickered with a new notification.
Missed Call from Mom (11) Missed Call from Chloe (18) Missed Call from Dad (9) Text Message from Mom: JESSI ANSWER YOUR PHONE THIS IS AN EMERGENCY!!! Text Message from Chloe: JESSI WHERE ARE YOU THE MOVERS ARE CHARGING US $150 AN HOUR PLEASE ANSWER!
I didn't reply to a single text. In high-stakes negotiations, the party that reacts emotionally loses first. By remaining completely silent, I was forcing them to burn through their adrenaline, their patience, and their finances.
Down at the gate, the situation hit a breaking point. Through my window, I could hear distant police sirens wailing in the distance. Marcus had fulfilled his promise. My father’s explosive temper had finally pushed Officer Davis to call the city police. Two patrol cruisers pulled up to the security entrance, lights flashing, blocking my parents' SUV and the massive commercial moving truck.
My doorbell camera captured Flynn’s phone ringing. He answered it, his face turning pale.
“Uh... Chloe?” Flynn stammered, pulling the phone away from his ear. “Your dad says the police just arrived at the gate. They’re telling the moving truck driver he has to leave the property immediately or the truck will be impounded.”
Chloe let out a shriek that almost cracked my smart lock’s microphone. “WHAT?!”
She grabbed her designer bag, abandoned the boxes right in the middle of the hallway, and ran toward the elevator, with Flynn scrambling behind her like a terrified puppy.
I checked my phone log.
Chloe: 28 Missed Calls. Mom: 31 Missed Calls. Dad: 20 Missed Calls.
Total: Seventy-nine missed calls.
Then, at 10:15 AM, call number eighty appeared on my screen.
INCOMING CALL: DAD.
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I smiled, took a slow breath, swiped the green button, and placed the phone to my ear.
“Hello?” I said, my tone as light, cheerful, and professional as if I were answering a routine client inquiry.
