Chapter 9 - What Grandpa Found in the Glove Box
Grandpa moved toward the window.
Margaret stopped him.
“Don't open the door.”
He frowned.
“This is my house.”
“And we don't know who's outside.”
We waited.
A car door closed.
Footsteps crossed the porch.
Then the bell rang.
Grandpa looked through the side glass.
His expression shifted.
“It's not Nathan.”
“Who?”
He unlocked the door.
A man in a dealership polo stood outside.
Same technician who had reprogrammed my SUV.
He held a padded envelope.
“Sorry to come by unexpectedly.”
Grandpa stepped aside.
The man looked at me.
“Ms. Harper, we found something in your vehicle after you left.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
He handed me the envelope.
Inside was a small black electronic device.
Rectangular.
No bigger than a deck of cards.
I stared.
“What is this?”
“A GPS unit.”
Grandpa's eyebrows rose.
“The vehicle already has factory tracking.”
“Yes, sir.”
The technician nodded.
“This isn't factory.”
The room went silent.
“Where was it?”
“Behind the lower glove-box panel.”
Ava covered her mouth.
Mom looked at her.
“Did you put that there?”
“No.”
Grandpa took the device.
“Can you tell who owns it?”
“Not directly.”
“Why did you remove it?”
“We found loose trim while checking the key programming.”
He pointed toward the device.
“The wiring was recent.”
My skin prickled.
Grandpa had tracked the vehicle through its built-in system.
Somebody else had been tracking it too.
“Could Nathan have done this?” I asked.
Margaret answered.
“Possible.”
Ava shook her head.
“He was never inside the car alone.”
“Are you sure?”
She hesitated.
“Yes.”
That hesitation was enough.
“When?”
“He borrowed it once.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Just for an hour.”
“You gave my car to Nathan?”
“He said he needed to take something to his office.”
“When?”
“Last Tuesday.”
Grandpa pulled up the factory route.
Tuesday.
Fifty-one miles.
There it was.
A forty-eight-minute stop near an industrial district.
Grandpa zoomed.
The address belonged to an automotive electronics shop.
He looked at Ava.
“You let him take it here?”
“I didn't know where he went.”
Margaret photographed the GPS device.
“Don't turn it on.”
The technician nodded.
“We disconnected power.”
“Thank you.”
After he left, nobody spoke for almost a minute.
Then Grandpa walked toward the garage.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“To look at the vehicle.”
Margaret followed.
So did we.
My SUV sat under the fluorescent garage lights.
Clean.
White.
Beautiful.
For the first time since my birthday, I didn't feel excitement looking at it.
I felt violated.
Grandpa opened the passenger door.
The glove-box trim had been reattached loosely after inspection.
He opened the compartment.
Registration.
Manual.
Napkins.
Ava's old lip balm.
Then he reached toward the back.
“What is this?”
A folded envelope was wedged behind the manual.
Ava frowned.
“I've never seen that.”
Grandpa pulled it out.
No name.
Unsealed.
Inside were three receipts.
A photocopy.
And a business card.
Margaret took them.
First receipt:
A parking garage near Sterling House.
Second:
The electronics shop.
Third:
A print center.
The photocopy was my vehicle registration.
The business card belonged to Nathan Reeves.
On the back, handwriting:
Need clean title copy + insurance declaration. A.H. must appear cooperative.
My stomach dropped.
A.H.
Me.
Margaret's face hardened.
“This is useful.”
Ava whispered:
“I didn't write that.”
Grandpa looked at her.
“I believe you.”
It was the first thing he had said all afternoon that softened her expression.
Then he added:
“Which means someone else was planning around Amelia's identity.”
Ava sat against the garage steps.
“What did I do?”
Nobody answered.
Because the honest answer was too complicated.
She had done plenty.
She had lied.
Taken the SUV.
Used my documents.
Sent my signature sample.
Accepted money under an agreement she didn't understand.
But she might also have walked into someone else's scheme because she was too eager to look successful to ask basic questions.
Margaret crouched slightly.
“Ava, listen carefully.”
Ava looked up.
“When did Nathan first ask about Amelia?”
“After he saw the registration.”
“What did he say?”
“That having a family guarantor would make everything easier.”
“Did you tell him Amelia agreed?”
“No.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That Mom thought she would.”
Mom flinched.
Margaret nodded.
“And then?”
“He said he could handle the paperwork.”
“Did he ask for identification?”
“Yes.”
“Signature?”
“Yes.”
“Trust documents?”
Ava looked down.
“Yes.”
Grandpa's face hardened.
“What trust documents?”
“The page showing what Amelia gets at twenty-five.”
I stared at her.
“What exactly did you send?”
“Only one page.”
“How much does it show?”
Ava didn't answer.
Grandpa knew.
“Seventy-five thousand.”
I turned.
“What?”
He looked at me.
My father had set aside more than I knew.
“You were going to find out closer to your birthday.”
I stared at him.
“Seventy-five?”
“Yes.”
My mind spun.
Student loans.
Apartment.
Savings.
A future I hadn't planned around because I didn't know it existed.
Ava looked ashamed.
“Nathan saw it.”
Margaret stood.
“And now your sister's forged guarantee makes sense.”
I looked at her.
“How?”
“He didn't just see a twenty-four-year-old with a job and an SUV.”
She tapped the trust document.
“He saw someone months away from receiving seventy-five thousand dollars.”
My blood went cold.
Grandpa asked:
“Could he collect against that?”
“Not lawfully if Amelia never signed.”
She paused.
“But if he intended to create documents that appeared valid, he may have believed he could pressure her into settlement.”
Mom sat on the garage steps beside Ava.
For once, she didn't touch her.
Maybe because she finally understood that comfort couldn't erase consequences.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
Margaret looked at it.
“Don't answer.”
It rang again.
Stopped.
Then voicemail.
We listened on speaker.
A man's voice.
Calm.
Professional.
“Ms. Harper, this is Nathan Reeves. There appears to be confusion regarding a business agreement involving your sister. I think it would be best for everyone if we resolve this privately before unnecessary accusations damage people's reputations. Please return my call today.”
The message ended.
Grandpa laughed once.
Not happily.
Margaret said:
“Save it.”
A second voicemail arrived.
Same number.
This one shorter.
“Amelia, your sister represented that you consented. I have documents supporting that. If she misled me, that's between the two of you.”
Ava stood.
“He's blaming me.”
Margaret nodded.
“Yes.”
“But he made the documents.”
“Can you prove that?”
Ava's eyes widened.
“The cloud folder.”
“Which you no longer control.”
Ava stared.
Then suddenly grabbed her purse.
“My laptop.”
“What?”
“I downloaded everything.”
Margaret stepped closer.
“Where is it?”
“At Brookhaven.”
Nobody moved.
Ava looked toward Grandpa.
“Nathan has a key.”
Grandpa's face changed.
“You left the laptop there?”
“I didn't know this was happening.”
Margaret took out her phone.
“We're not going there.”
“But—”
“We handle this correctly.”
She began making a call.
Ava suddenly remembered something.
“Wait.”
Everyone turned.
“There is another copy.”
“Where?”
She pointed toward my SUV.
“I printed the agreement before I met Nathan Friday.”
“Where did you put it?”
“In the center console.”
I opened the driver's door.
The console was empty.
Ava stared.
“No.”
She searched.
Under the seats.
Door pockets.
Nothing.
Then Grandpa opened the rear cargo compartment.
A white envelope lay beneath the floor mat.
He pulled it out.
Inside was not the loan agreement.
It was a copy of my title.
Stamped across the top:
DUPLICATE REQUEST SUBMITTED.
The request date was three days ago.
And the contact email listed beneath my name belonged to someone I had never heard of.
Margaret read it once.
Then looked at Ava.
“This is no longer about your business loan.”
May you like
She pointed to the email address.
“I know that name.”
