Chapter 8 - The 79 Phone Calls Begin
My phone lit up on my desk. Incoming Call: Chloe.
I let it ring out, watching it bounce to voicemail. Ten seconds later, it started ringing again. Incoming Call: Chloe.
Within three minutes, the floodgates opened. My phone became a flashing, vibrating strobe light of family panic. Chloe called back-to-back. Flynn called from his number. Then my mother’s number flashed across the screen. Then my father’s authoritative, aggressive ringtone broke through the silence.
I ignored them all, keeping my eyes fixed on the security camera feed outside the gate.
The moving truck was now blocking the entire entrance lane, honking angrily behind other residents trying to exit the complex. Security guards had cordoned off the area, and two additional patrol officers were walking toward Flynn’s SUV to demand they move the vehicle off private property immediately.
My phone was vibrating so violently against the wooden desk that it began to buzz rhythmically across the surface.
I picked it up on the twelfth call, swiping the answer button with absolute serenity, and brought it to my ear.
“Jessi! What the hell is wrong with your building security?!” Chloe’s voice shrieked through the speaker, high-pitched and hysterical. “They won’t let the movers through the gate! They’re treating us like criminals! Tell them right now that we have permission to enter your apartment!”
I didn’t raise my voice. I spoke in a quiet, glacial tone that cut straight through her panic.
“Chloe, why would security let movers into an apartment you don't own?”
A sudden, dead silence fell over the line. Even the background noise of Flynn yelling at the security guard seemed to muffle for a fraction of a second.
“What... what are you talking about?” Chloe stammered, her voice dropping an octave as genuine confusion and cold dread crept in. “It’s your apartment! We’re moving in! Mom and Dad said—we spent three weeks packing—!”
“Mom and Dad don't own my apartment,” I interrupted, every word sharp as a scalpel. “And neither do you. That home was bought with seven years of my salary, my overtime, my bonuses, and my sacrifices. Not a single cent of yours, nor a single cent of our parents' mortgage assistance, ever touched the deed of that property.”
“Jessi, stop playing games!” Chloe shrieked again, her voice cracking with rising hysteria. “Open the gate right now! The movers are charging us by the hour! Flynn already signed the deposit—!”
“Let Flynn pay for it, then,” I replied coldly. “Or better yet, maybe he can sell one of his get-rich-quick crypto courses to cover the fee.”
Before she could scream another word, I tapped the red end-call button and blocked her number.
May you like
Instantly, my mother’s number flashed on the screen. I blocked her too. Then my father’s. Then Flynn’s.
By the end of the hour, my blocked call log registered exactly seventy-nine missed phone calls.
