Chapter 5 - THE ESCALATION AND THE ESCAPE
The digital clock on the microwave read 7:05 a.m.
I sat at the kitchen island, watching in absolute silence as Helen—her hands shaking so badly she could barely hold her landline phone—spoke with a fraud investigator from Washington Mutual Credit Union.
“Yes,” Helen choked out, her voice thin and raspy under my unblinking stare. “I am calling to report an unauthorized co-borrower addition and signature dispute on Home Equity Loan number... yes, that one. My older daughter, Clara Miller, was listed without her knowledge or valid physical presence... Yes, I understand the legal implications of a fraudulent filing... Yes, please initiate the default investigation and release her name from the liability binding immediately.”
A minute later, the bank representative confirmed receipt of the verbal affidavit, noting that an investigator would follow up with formal paperwork by email next week.
I recorded the entire conversation on my phone as a failsafe.
“Satisfied?” Helen spat out, slamming the landline receiver back onto its cradle. She looked up at me with eyes rimmed in red, full of bitter resentment. “Your name will be cleared from the bank by end of week. Now take your damn papers and get out of my house.”
“Gladly,” I said.
I stood up, adjusting the leather crossbody bag across my chest, feeling the reassuring bulk of my dual passports resting against my ribs. I walked out of the kitchen, down the hallway, and out the front door, ignoring the charred, smoking heap of my former life still sitting in the driveway.
I pulled out my phone and tapped the ride-share app. Within three minutes, a silver Honda Civic driven by a kind-looking older man named Marcus pulled up to the curb.
As I opened the car door and slid into the backseat, I looked back at the house one last time. Brooke was standing behind the living room sheer curtains, watching me with an expression of pure, unadulterated malice. Helen was nowhere to be seen.
“Seatbelt on?” Marcus asked cheerfully, putting the car in drive.
“Always,” I said, leaning my head back against the headrest as the car pulled away from the curb. “And let’s head straight to Sea-Tac Airport, please. As fast as legally possible.”
The drive to Seattle-Tacoma International Airport took forty-five tense minutes. Every time Marcus tapped his brakes or hit a patch of morning traffic, my heart gave a little lurch, half-expecting my sister to come barreling down the highway in her sedan to stop me. But nothing happened. The highway unrolled before us, gray and wet with Pacific Northwest mist, leading steadily toward freedom.
When we pulled up to the departure terminal at 8:00 a.m., I tipped Marcus fifty dollars in cash—all the loose bills I had left in my wallet.
“You look like you survived a war, kid,” Marcus said, handing me my small backpack from the front seat.
“Something like that,” I smiled faintly. “Thanks for the ride.”
Walking into the terminal was like stepping into another dimension. Bright fluorescent lights, the hum of rolling suitcases, the smell of burnt Starbucks coffee, and the chatter of hundreds of travelers heading everywhere except Tacoma.
Because my suitcase had been reduced to ashes, I had no checked luggage. Just my heavy winter coat, my leather crossbody bag, my emergency Chromebook, and a small backpack containing my laptop charger, a journal, and three pairs of socks I had stashed in my jacket pockets before the fire.
I walked straight to the Aer Lingus check-in kiosk. My flight to Dublin was boarding in thirty minutes.
When I scanned my passport barcode at the self-service terminal, the machine beeped cheerfully.
Boarding Pass Issued: Seat 14A – Dublin, Ireland.
May you like
A wave of emotion so powerful, so heavy and sweet, crashed over me that I had to grab the edge of the kiosk to steady myself. My eyes watered, but this time, not from grief or smoke.
I was leaving. I was really, truly leaving.
