Across the street, parked beneath the shade of a wide oak tree, I watched everything through my windshield.
I did not smile.
I did not feel cruel satisfaction.
I simply felt the quiet relief of an account finally balanced.
I started the car and drove away slowly, leaving them standing in the wreckage of their own selfishness.
But I knew the real blow had not landed yet.
Three days later, on Friday morning, Chelsea hosted brunch for her neighborhood friends.
She was trying to keep up appearances. Trying to act as if her life was not falling apart.
But at exactly 10:15 a.m., the low growl of a diesel engine disturbed the calm of Thunderbird Road.
A large yellow tow truck stopped directly in front of their driveway.
Part 3
The tow truck driver wasted no time.
He jumped from the cab and began unwinding a heavy steel chain.
The metallic sound rang down the street.
Clack.
Clack.
Clack.
Inside the house, the laughter of Chelsea’s friends died instantly.
Chelsea appeared at the dining room window.
Her face turned pale with shock.
She dropped her mimosa and rushed toward the front door.
“Hey! What are you doing?” she shouted as she ran across the lawn.
The driver did not even look at her.
He hooked the chains beneath the luxury SUV.
“Vehicle repossession, ma’am,” he said flatly.
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