Chapter 1
“WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER’S CAR?”
My voice thundered through the garage.
I stood beside an empty parking space, staring at the concrete floor where my daughter’s white Mercedes had been parked that morning.
The car was gone.
Not moved.
Not hidden behind another vehicle.
Gone.
And my wife was standing three feet away, looking as though I had interrupted her afternoon coffee.
“Felicia!”
She slowly turned toward me.
“What?”
I pointed at the empty space.
“Where is Jasmine’s car?”
She glanced at it.
Then she shrugged.
“Gone.”
For a second, I thought I had misheard her.
“Gone?”
“Yes, Marcus. Gone.”
I took a step toward her.
“What do you mean, gone?”
Felicia crossed her arms.
“I sold it.”
The words hit me harder than a punch.
I stared at my wife.
“You did WHAT?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Please don't start shouting.”
“You sold my daughter’s car?”
“I just told you that.”
“Without asking me?”
Felicia sighed.
“It's a car, Marcus. Stop acting like someone died.”
Something inside me snapped.
“That car belongs to Jasmine!”
“And?”
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
My daughter had just turned eighteen.
She was preparing to start college.
That car was a graduation gift I had purchased after years of promising her that if she maintained her grades, earned her scholarship, and worked hard, I would help her begin adulthood with something reliable.
Jasmine had cried when I handed her the keys.
She had hugged me so tightly that I could barely breathe.
And now my wife was standing in front of me, acting as though selling it was no different from throwing away an old chair.
“Where's the money?” I demanded.
Felicia looked away.
“That's none of your business.”
I laughed once.
A cold, disbelieving laugh.
“None of my business?”
“Marcus, you're making a scene.”
“We're in our own garage!”
She tightened her folded arms.
“I made a decision. That's what wives do.”
“No,” I said sharply. “That's what thieves do.”
Her expression changed.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Felicia stepped closer.
“I am your wife.”
“And Jasmine is my daughter.”
Her lips curled.
“There it is again.”
“What?”
“Your precious daughter.”
I went completely still.
Felicia shook her head.
“Everything revolves around Jasmine. Jasmine needs this. Jasmine deserves that. Jasmine wants another expensive present.”
“That wasn't another present. It was her graduation gift.”
Felicia laughed bitterly.
“She isn't even my biological daughter.”
My heart seemed to stop.
“What did you just say?”
Felicia lifted her chin.
“She's your responsibility, Marcus. Not mine.”
I stared at her.
Seven years.
I had been married to this woman for seven years.
And in those seven years, I had trusted her inside my home.
Trusted her around my child.
Trusted her when she said she loved Jasmine like her own.
Now she was looking me directly in the eyes and saying my daughter meant nothing to her.
“If Jasmine doesn't like it,” Felicia continued, “she can go live with her mother.”
The garage became painfully quiet.
My first wife, Danielle, was dead.
She had passed away when Jasmine was only six years old.
Felicia knew that.
She had attended memorial services with us.
She had watched Jasmine cry over photographs of her mother.
And she had just told my daughter to go live with a woman buried twelve years ago.
I felt something cold settle inside my chest.
“Say that again.”
Felicia hesitated.
“What?”
“Tell me where Jasmine should go.”
She looked uncomfortable for the first time.
“Marcus, don't twist my words.”
“You said she should go live with her mother.”
“I didn't mean—”
“Her mother is dead, Felicia.”
She looked away.
“You know what I meant.”
“No.”
My voice dropped.
“I don't think I ever knew what you meant.”
For years, I had ignored little things.
Felicia complaining when Jasmine needed money for school.
Felicia insisting Jasmine eat dinner in her bedroom when guests visited.
Felicia calling my daughter ungrateful whenever I bought her something.
I had mistaken jealousy for ordinary family tension.
I had believed my wife when she said Jasmine was simply struggling to accept a stepmother.
Now I wondered how much I had failed to see.
I pointed toward the house.
“Pack your things.”
Felicia blinked.
“What?”
“Get your belongings and leave.”
She laughed nervously.
“Marcus, you're joking.”
“I'm not.”
“You're kicking me out over a car?”
I stepped closer.
“I'm telling you to leave because you stole from my daughter.”
Her smile disappeared.
“And because you just showed me exactly how little you care about her.”
Felicia stared at me.
“This is my house too.”
“We'll deal with the legal details through attorneys. But you're not staying here tonight.”
She shook her head.
“You can't just throw me away.”
“You should have thought about that before selling something that didn't belong to you.”
I pulled out my phone.
The vehicle registration and purchase documents were saved in my files.
Jasmine was the registered owner.
I had made sure of it when I bought the car.
I held the phone up.
“Her name is on the title.”
Felicia's face changed.
Just slightly.
But I noticed.
“Where did you take it?” I demanded.
She swallowed.
“Marcus—”
“Who bought it?”
Silence.
“Where is the money?”
She stared at the floor.
I felt my anger turning into something more frightening.
Certainty.
“Get the car back,” I said. “Or return every dollar.”
Felicia lifted her eyes.
“And if I don't?”
I looked directly at her.
“Then I'm filing a police report.”
Her face went pale.
“You would call the police on your own wife?”
“If you stole my daughter's property, yes.”
She shook her head.
“You're destroying our marriage.”
“No, Felicia.”
I put my phone away.
“You did that.”
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I delivered the final words.
“You have until tonight.”
Felicia stared at me.
But instead of apologizing, she suddenly looked frightened.
Not angry.
Not offended.
Frightened.
She slowly reached for her phone.
And when I saw the name flashing across her screen, my stomach tightened.
Derrick Coleman.
Her younger brother.
The same man I had banned from our home six months earlier.
Felicia immediately declined the call.
I stepped forward.
“Why is Derrick calling you?”
She slipped the phone into her pocket.
“No reason.”
I stared at her.
“Felicia.”
“What?”
“Did you sell Jasmine's car to your brother?”
Her lips parted.
For the first time that afternoon, she couldn't find an answer.
Then my phone rang.
It was Jasmine.
I answered immediately.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
But instead of her usual cheerful greeting, I heard crying.
“Daddy?”
My heart dropped.
“Baby, what's wrong?”
She struggled to speak.
“Please don't be mad at me.”
I looked straight at Felicia.
“Jasmine, tell me what happened.”
There was a long silence.
Then my daughter whispered something that made my entire world tilt.
“Dad, Felicia told me you don't want me living at home anymore.”
I stopped breathing.
“She said you sold my car because you're tired of paying for me.”
I looked at the woman standing before me.
Her face had lost every trace of color.
And suddenly, I understood.
May you like
The missing car wasn't the beginning of this betrayal.
It was only the first piece I had discovered.
