Chapter 2 - The Sound of Glass Breaking
The elevator descended smoothly through thirty-four floors of reinforced concrete and glass, dropping me into the subterranean parking garage where my midnight-blue Audi sedan sat tucked into a reserved corner slot.
My phone started buzzing violently the moment my phone reconnected to the garage's cellular repeater.
It wasn't a call. It was a barrage of text messages.
Mom (Brenda Wilson): Cassidy Marie Wilson, pick up your phone right now! Brittany is hysterical in the lobby! What do you mean the front desk says the key card is invalid?!
Mom: Answer me! DeAndre says some man in a suit is downstairs with papers saying the unit belongs to an LLC! What kind of sick game are you playing before New Year's?!
Dad (Thomas Wilson): Cassidy. Get back upstairs right now and fix this. Your mother is taking her blood pressure medication. You have fifty minutes to straighten this out or you are cut out of this family permanently.
I stared at the screen, my thumb flicking the notification banner away with the casual indifference of clearing spam mail.
Permanently cut out.
As if being cut out of a family that treated me like an unpaid administrative assistant and a spare warehouse for their real estate ambitions was a punishment rather than a clearance sale.
I unlocked the Audi, tossed my leather bag onto the passenger seat, and slid behind the steering wheel. But before I turned the ignition, my phone rang with a bright, insistent chime.
It was a direct cellular call from an unknown local number.
I swiped to answer, keeping my voice entirely flat. "Wilson speaking."
"Ms. Wilson?" a sharp, professional male voice asked. "This is Detective Miller with the Seattle Police Department, commercial fraud and property division. I’m currently at 1200 4th Avenue, Suite 3402. I have two agitated individuals here—a Mr. DeAndre Vance and a Mrs. Brittany Vance—along with a building manager who is presenting a recorded deed from Apex Horizon Holdings LLC showing a verified cash sale completed twenty minutes ago. The occupants are claiming trespass, but the title registry shows you transferred ownership at 4:15 PM today. Can you verify your current location?"
I looked at my reflection in the rearview mirror, my expression calm, almost serene.
"Officer, I am a private citizen," I said clearly. "I legally owned a piece of real estate free and clear of any encumbrance. I executed a standard, lawful commercial transaction through a licensed title company, transferring my private property to a registered corporate entity at market value. If there are unauthorized individuals trespassing in a private residence currently owned by Apex Horizon Holdings LLC, that is a civil property dispute between the building management and the interlopers. I have nothing to do with it."
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, followed by the faint sound of DeAndre screaming obscenities in the background—something about forgery and familial fraud and my father-in-law's lawyers.
"Understood, Ms. Wilson," Detective Miller said, a very faint note of dry amusement in his voice. "For the record... did your family know you were selling?"
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"My family," I replied smoothly, "has a very active imagination regarding other people's property. Have a wonderful evening, Officer."
I hung up, dropped the gear shift into drive, and glided out of the parking garage into the freezing Seattle sleet.
