The sight on the driveway made my stomach drop into a bottomless abyss. Sitting on the cracked concrete of our lower-middle-class driveway was a gleaming, pristine, matte-black 2024 Range Rover Velar. The dealer plates were still on it.
The driver’s side door swung open, and Mia stepped out. She was wearing oversized designer sunglasses, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder, looking like a triumphant queen returning from a conquest.
“You stole my card!” I yelled, my voice cracking with a mixture of disbelief and absolute terror.
Mia paused, looking me up and down with an expression of pure, unadulterated contempt. She casually reached into her designer handbag, pulling out the heavy, black titanium card, holding it delicately between her manicured fingers.
“Oh, please,” Mia sneered, her lips curling into an ugly, mocking smile. “Like a broke, basement-dwelling loser like you actually qualifies for something like this. What is this, anyway? Some rich guy’s card you stole while cleaning his house? I’m just putting it to good use. It went through like a dream.”
The front door of the house flew open. My parents rushed out, stopping dead in their tracks as they laid eyes on the luxury vehicle.
“Oh my god! Mia!” My mother gasped, her hands flying to her face in awe. “Is this… did you get a sponsorship?!”
“Mom, Dad!” Mia instantly pitched her voice an octave higher, summoning fake, trembling tears on command. It was a masterclass in DARVO—Deny, Attack, Reverse Victim and Offender. She pointed a trembling finger at me. “Chloe is trying to ruin my big day! I just secured the financing for my dream car to elevate my brand, and she came out here screaming at me because she’s so jealous!”
My father’s face flushed a deep, violent crimson. He turned his rage entirely on me, stepping forward so aggressively I instinctively took a step back.
“You are useless!” my father roared, his spittle flying into the morning air. “Your sister goes out and makes something of herself, and you try to tear her down?! I am sick of your jealousy! I am sick of looking at you!”
“Dad, she stole a credit card from my purse,” I said, forcing my voice to remain steady, though my hands were shaking. “You don’t understand what that card is. If she doesn’t give it back right now, she is going to go to prison.”
“LIAR!” Mia shrieked, clutching the keys to her chest. “YOU’RE USELESS NOW—GET OUT!”
My mother stepped up beside Mia, wrapping a protective arm around her golden child. “We are done with you, Chloe. It’s time you stop leeching off us and stand on your own two feet. Get your things. Get out of my house. Today.”
I looked at the three of them. My mother, glaring at me with hatred. My father, vibrating with rage. And my sister, clutching a stolen piece of titanium that was functionally a live grenade, smiling a smug, victorious smile.
They thought they had won. They thought they had finally crushed the parasite.
I took a deep breath. The terror evaporated, replaced by a cold, calculating, and terrifyingly clear detachment. I didn’t cry. I didn’t beg. I didn’t try to explain who Victor Sterling was. I realized, in that exact moment, that my familial obligations were dead. I was free.
“Okay,” I said quietly.
I turned around, walked down to the basement, and packed a single, black duffel bag with my clothes and my encrypted tech. I left the cheap furniture. I left the childhood memories.
Ten minutes later, I walked back up the stairs and out the front door. I didn’t look at them as I walked down the driveway, past the stolen Range Rover.
As the sound of my family popping a bottle of cheap champagne to celebrate their new luxury vehicle echoed down the suburban street, I walked three blocks to a quiet park. I sat on a weathered wooden bench, pulled out my encrypted phone, and bypassed the standard security protocols to make a direct, secure call to the private line of Victor Sterling.
The line clicked. Victor’s deep, gravelly voice answered on the first ring. “Chloe. It is Saturday. Is the property secured?”
“Mr. Sterling,” I whispered, staring at the empty swingset in front of me. “The primary proxy card has been compromised. Stolen by a family member. They just purchased a fifty-thousand-dollar vehicle with it.”
Silence hung on the line for three agonizing seconds. When Victor spoke again, the temperature of his voice had dropped below freezing. “Do you wish for me to involve local authorities, Chloe?”
“No, Victor,” I said, a dark, irrevocable finality settling over my soul. “I want to initiate Protocol Icarus.”
