Chapter 1 - The Gift That Was Never Theirs
"WHY ARE YOU GIVING HIM MY CAR?"
My scream echoed across the driveway before I even realized I was shouting.
Twenty relatives turned toward me.
My mother dropped her champagne glass.
And my little brother, Jordan, stood beside my black Mercedes with a giant red bow stretched across the hood, smiling like he had just won the lottery.
He was holding my car key.
My car.
The one I had worked three years to buy.
The one I had paid for without a single dollar from my parents.
I stood frozen on the front steps, gripping the vehicle documents so tightly that the papers began to wrinkle.
"What is going on?" I demanded.
My father, Marcus, walked toward me.
He was wearing his favorite burgundy polo shirt, the one he always wore when he wanted to look like a successful businessman.
"Nia," he said firmly. "Lower your voice."
I stared past him.
There were balloons tied to the mailbox.
A photographer stood near the garage.
My aunt Denise was holding a cake.
And Jordan was still smiling.
"Dad, why does Jordan have my car key?"
My father folded his arms.
"We decided your brother needs the vehicle more than you do."
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then I laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because the alternative was screaming until my throat gave out.
"You decided?"
"Nia, don't start."
"That car belongs to me!"
Jordan jingled the key.
"Come on, sis. You can buy another one."
I turned toward him.
He was twenty years old.
He had quit college twice.
He had never kept a job longer than three months.
And last week, he had asked me to lend him four hundred dollars because he had spent his entire paycheck on designer sneakers.
Now he was standing beside my Mercedes like a king receiving his crown.
"I paid for that car," I said.
My father shrugged.
"You're doing well financially. Jordan needs a fresh start."
"A fresh start?"
"Don't make this about money."
I couldn't believe those words.
Money was exactly what this was about.
For three years, I had worked overtime at a financial technology company.
I had skipped vacations.
I had eaten cheap lunches at my desk.
I had saved every bonus.
When I finally purchased the Mercedes, I cried inside the dealership.
Not because it was expensive.
Because it was the first beautiful thing I had ever bought entirely for myself.
My parents had congratulated me.
My mother had even taken pictures.
Apparently, she had also been planning how to give it away.
"Marcus," Aunt Denise said nervously. "Maybe we should talk about this privately."
My father raised his hand.
"This is a family decision."
I looked at the people standing behind him.
Nobody spoke.
Not one person.
My mother, Claire, suddenly hurried toward me.
She grabbed my arm.
"Nia, you're embarrassing everyone."
I pulled away.
"You're giving my brother something I own!"
"Please," she whispered angrily. "Let him enjoy his birthday."
I stared at her.
"His birthday was six months ago."
"It's a celebration of his new beginning."
"What new beginning?"
Jordan answered for her.
"I'm starting a business."
I blinked.
"What business?"
He rolled his eyes.
"You wouldn't understand."
My father stepped closer.
"Your brother has plans. He needs a respectable vehicle to meet clients."
"And he couldn't buy one himself?"
"That's enough!"
His voice cracked across the driveway.
I remembered that voice.
It was the same voice he had used when I was sixteen and refused to give Jordan the laptop I had bought with money from my summer job.
The same voice he had used when I received a college scholarship and he demanded I share my savings with my brother.
The same voice he had used every time I accomplished something Jordan wanted.
I was always expected to understand.
Always expected to sacrifice.
Always expected to be grateful that my parents had raised me.
But standing there, looking at my car wrapped like a present, something inside me finally broke.
Jordan opened his arms.
"Seriously, Nia. Stop being dramatic."
He walked toward the driver's door.
"Don't touch it."
He ignored me.
His fingers reached the handle.
I rushed forward and slammed my palm against the hood.
The sound startled everyone.
Jordan jumped backward.
"Are you crazy?"
I pointed at him.
"Get away from my car."
My father grabbed my shoulder.
"The decision has already been made."
I turned slowly.
"By whom?"
"By your mother and me."
I looked down at the papers in my hands.
Earlier that morning, I had visited the dealership after receiving a strange notification about a replacement vehicle key.
The manager had shown me something that made my stomach turn.
Someone had requested another key.
Someone had claimed to be authorized to manage my vehicle.
That was why I had rushed home.
Now I understood.
I unfolded the document.
"Then you should have checked whose name is legally on the title."
My father went quiet.
I held the paper higher.
"Mine. Only mine."
Jordan laughed nervously.
"Dad said he handled that."
My eyes moved toward my father.
"Handled what?"
He didn't answer.
I pulled out my phone.
"And the dealership has already disabled the replacement key after I reported it as unauthorized."
Jordan immediately pressed the remote.
Nothing happened.
He pressed it again.
Still nothing.
The smile vanished from his face.
My mother looked at my father.
"Marcus?"
He was staring at me.
I had never seen him look so pale.
But I wasn't finished.
Because the dealership hadn't only shown me the replacement-key request.
The manager had accidentally mentioned something else.
Something connected to my father's business.
Something involving a document I had never signed.
I stepped closer.
"There's one more thing you transferred without asking me."
My father's lips parted.
"Nia, we can discuss that inside."
"No."
His eyes shifted toward our relatives.
"Please."
It was the first time I had ever heard him beg.
I took another paper from my folder.
"You used my name on a company ownership transfer."
Jordan stopped pressing the key.
My mother covered her mouth.
And my father whispered the words that changed everything.
"Who told you about that?"
I stared at him.
He hadn't denied it.
He hadn't asked what I meant.
He had just admitted that he knew.
My hands started shaking.
"Dad... what did you do?"
He looked behind me toward the house.
Then he leaned close enough that only I could hear him.
"Nia, if you expose this, we could lose everything."
I took one step backward.
May you like
Because for the first time in my life, I realized my father wasn't worried about losing his daughter's love.
He was worried about getting caught.
