Chapter 5 - What Mom Had Promised My Sister
Mom entered Eric's office carrying my document folder.
The original one.
Blue.
Creased at the corner.
The folder that had been inside the bottom drawer of my bedroom desk.
I stared at it.
Mom stopped.
Her face told me she knew exactly what I was thinking.
“Amelia.”
I stood.
“Why do you have that?”
She tightened her grip.
“I went home and found it.”
“In my room?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew you'd need it.”
Grandpa's voice came from behind me.
“How thoughtful.”
Mom looked at him.
“Dad, don't.”
“Don't what?”
“Make this worse.”
He pointed his cane toward the folder.
“Open it.”
Mom hesitated.
“Dad.”
“Open it.”
She put the folder on Eric's desk.
Inside were my purchase agreement, insurance papers, warranty documents, title receipt.
The slot where the spare key had been was empty.
Grandpa looked at me.
“Is everything else there?”
I checked.
Then stopped.
“My license.”
Mom's face changed.
“What?”
“My old driver's license.”
I turned toward her.
“Did you take it?”
“No.”
Eric placed the photocopy beside the folder.
Mom stared.
For one second too long.
Grandpa saw it.
“You've seen that.”
“No.”
“Linda.”
“I said no.”
I looked at her.
“Did you give Ava my license?”
Mom's eyes filled with frustration.
Not guilt.
Frustration.
That hurt in a different way.
“Amelia, I was trying to help both of you.”
The room went silent.
Grandpa slowly sat.
Eric looked down at his desk, clearly wishing he were anywhere else.
“What does helping both of us mean?”
Mom rubbed her forehead.
“I told Ava she could explore options.”
“With my car?”
“I thought we could discuss transferring it.”
“You thought wrong.”
“You weren't even using it.”
“Because you kept taking the keys!”
My voice rose for the first time.
Everyone looked at me.
I felt my heart pounding.
Then I lowered my voice again.
“You created the problem and then used the problem as proof I didn't need the car.”
Mom opened her mouth.
No words came.
Grandpa watched me.
I continued.
“You took the keys, told me to use Uber, then told Ava the SUV made more sense for her because I was using Uber.”
Mom looked away.
That silence was an answer.
I pointed toward my copied license.
“And you gave her this.”
“I found it months ago.”
I stared.
“What?”
Mom sighed.
“Your license. I found it under the passenger seat of my car.”
“You told me you hadn't seen it.”
“I forgot.”
“You kept it for six months?”
“I put it in a drawer.”
“Then how did Ava get a copy?”
Mom looked at the floor.
Grandpa's voice went cold.
“Answer her.”
“I gave it to Ava.”
My throat tightened.
“Why?”
“She said the dealership needed identification.”
“For a car that wasn't hers.”
“She told me it was only for valuation.”
“You knew she was using my name.”
“I didn't think anything would be signed.”
Eric cleared his throat.
“With respect, Mrs. Harper, the identification copy was presented with a preliminary transfer agreement.”
Mom closed her eyes.
“I didn't know that.”
Grandpa tapped the forged signature.
“Did you write this?”
Her eyes snapped open.
“No.”
“Did Ava?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you see it before today?”
“No.”
I believed her.
Or wanted to.
But believing she didn't forge the signature didn't erase everything else.
She had given Ava my identification.
My documents.
My spare key.
Permission she had no right to give.
“Why?” I asked.
Mom looked at me.
And finally, something in her posture collapsed.
“Because Ava came to me crying.”
Of course.
The answer was Ava needed help.
It always was.
“She said her business opportunity was going to disappear.”
“What opportunity?”
“An investor.”
“Nathan Reeves?”
Mom nodded.
“He told her he could introduce her to clients and possibly put money into her company, but she needed to show she had some capital and professional stability.”
Grandpa frowned.
“By pretending Amelia's SUV was hers?”
“No.”
Mom sounded desperate.
“At first, she just wanted to arrive in something nice.”
I laughed bitterly.
“At first.”
Mom ignored that.
“She had been embarrassed about her old car.”
Ava's old car was a five-year-old compact sedan Mom bought her after college.
There was nothing wrong with it.
Apparently it wasn't photogenic enough.
“So you took mine.”
“I thought one day wouldn't matter.”
“Then?”
“She said the meeting went well.”
“And?”
“She said Nathan thought she was doing better financially than he expected.”
The truth was becoming uglier in small increments.
“So instead of correcting him, she kept taking my SUV.”
Mom looked down.
“She thought it helped.”
“She lied.”
“She didn't exactly—”
“Mom.”
She stopped.
I stared at her.
“Please don't do that.”
“Do what?”
“Turn every lie into a misunderstanding because Ava told it.”
Her eyes filled.
I hated that it still hurt to see my mother cry.
But I couldn't carry both sides of this conversation anymore.
Grandpa spoke.
“What did you promise Ava?”
Mom looked at him.
“Nothing.”
He waited.
She sighed.
“I told her Amelia might let her keep the SUV.”
“Might?”
“I said I would talk to her.”
“You never talked to me.”
“I was waiting.”
“For what?”
“For you to get used to Uber.”
I stared at her.
She realized what she'd said.
Grandpa leaned back as though the answer had physically exhausted him.
“You were creating a new normal.”
Mom shook her head.
“No.”
“Yes.”
His voice was quiet.
“You knew Amelia would object. So instead of asking first, you took the vehicle until objecting became socially inconvenient.”
Mom looked offended.
“That sounds manipulative.”
“It was manipulative.”
She began crying.
I wanted to reach for her.
That was the hardest moment.
Not when Ava took the car.
Not the forged signature.
Watching Mom cry and realizing comforting her would return us to the exact pattern that created this.
So I stayed still.
Eric slid the agreement toward Grandpa.
“We can formally flag the file.”
Grandpa looked at me.
“This is Amelia's decision.”
That mattered.
He didn't decide for me.
He didn't say family.
He didn't say what I should forgive.
He just gave the choice back.
I looked at Eric.
“What does flagging mean?”
“No transfer, sale, valuation release, or duplicate inquiry without direct verification from you.”
“Do it.”
Mom looked at me.
“Amelia.”
I didn't turn.
“And I want copies of everything Ava submitted.”
Eric nodded.
“I can provide those.”
Grandpa looked satisfied.
Mom did not.
When we stepped outside forty minutes later, she followed me across the parking lot.
“Are you going to the police?”
I stopped.
“I haven't decided.”
Her face drained.
“Please don't.”
“Why?”
“She's your sister.”
There it was again.
I looked at Mom.
“And I'm your daughter.”
Her lips parted.
For once, she had no answer.
I got into Grandpa's car.
He didn't start the engine immediately.
Mom stood outside.
Then she walked toward her own car.
Grandpa looked at me.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good answer.”
I laughed weakly.
He started the engine.
Halfway back to his house, my phone buzzed.
Ava.
I almost ignored it.
Then I saw the message preview.
You have no idea what you've done. Nathan needs that deal to go through or I'm finished.
A second message arrived.
Mom promised me you would sign.
Then a third.
A photograph.
I opened it.
It showed a contract.
At the bottom was a line labeled:
Personal Asset Guarantee — Amelia Harper.
And beneath it was another signature in my name.
May you like
But this one was dated nine days earlier.
Before Ava ever visited Westlake.
