She Sold My Fortune For Scrap Chapter 1

I never in a million years thought my best friend was capable of something like this.

She snuck into my apartment, took my spare keys, and sold my custom, three-hundred-thousand-dollar Range Rover.

For four thousand bucks.

When I confronted her, she didn't even flinch. She just stared at me with this sickeningly righteous look in her eyes. "You don't even need the money," she told me. "My two kids don't even have a car to ride in."

I couldn't stomach the sheer audacity of it. I called the police.

When the cops showed up, her husband dropped to his knees right there on the pavement, begging me. Her mother-in-law stood to the side, hurling every curse word in the book at me, while my so-called best friend finally broke down in tears.

Later, in the courtroom, the judge looked down at her from the bench, his expression made of stone. "Do you have any concept of what that vehicle was actually worth?"

She crossed her arms, still clinging to her delusion. "It’s just some loud, obnoxious SUV."

The judge didn't blink. "Five years. Minimum."

That was the exact moment the floor fell out from under her, and she completely, finally, shattered.

* * *

I was exhausted. I dragged my carry-on through the fluorescent-lit underground parking garage of my condo building, fresh off a four-day business trip.

I turned the corner to my deeded spot and froze.

Empty.

My Range Rover was gone.

It was a $250,000 SV Autobiography. I had put another $50,000 into custom modifications. Three hundred grand, vanished into the damp concrete air of the garage.

My immediate, visceral reaction was panic. Stolen. Someone had bypassed the security gates. I reached for my phone, my thumb hovering over the keypad to dial 911, when a text notification slid across my lock screen.

It was from Cassie.

Hey babe! That Rover of yours is such a gas guzzler, I did you a favor and sold it. I’m just gonna use the $4k for now.

It was followed by a little smiling emoji with sweat dropping down its forehead.

I stared at the glowing pixels. The air in my lungs just stopped. I blinked hard, entirely convinced the exhaustion was playing tricks on my eyes.

Excuse me? I typed back.

It’s just way too flashy, honestly, the bubbles popped up instantly. A guy I know said he’d take it off our hands. I got four thousand for it! That’s pretty good for a used car!

My fingers were trembling now. Not from fear, but from a sudden, blinding spike of adrenaline.

Cassie. I paid 250k for that car. I put another 50k into the mods.

Oh my god, relax, you’re not exactly hurting for cash. I have two kids and we don’t even have a reliable minivan. Who are you even trying to impress driving something like that anyway?

I closed my eyes and took a long, jagged breath, inhaling the smell of exhaust and damp cement.

Did you take my keys?

I still had the spare from when you left it at my place last time. It’s not like you drive it every day. It was literally just sitting there gathering dust.

Cassie. That is my property.

I know! That’s why I’m telling you! Think of it this way, four grand will pay for your Ubers for years.

A dark, sharp laugh clawed its way out of my throat. It echoed in the empty garage.

Who did you sell it to?

Just a scrap guy. He said it was getting old and wasn’t worth much anyway. He said the four grand was doing me a huge favor.

Old? The car is barely a year old.

Look, it’s done, okay? You can’t seriously expect me to pay you back. You know I don’t have that kind of money. I have two mouths to feed. Why are you being so corporate and petty about this?

I didn't reply.

My screen lit up again.

Besides, it was literally just sitting in the dark wasting away. I helped you liquidate an asset and you’re mad at me? God, Gemma, when did you become so obsessed with money?

I stood there in the silence of the garage.

It wasn't about the car. Not really. It was the fact that I had called this woman my best friend for eight years.

When she got married, I gifted them five thousand dollars to help with the catering. When she had her kids, I bought the cribs, the strollers. When her husband got laid off, I pulled strings to get his resume to the top of the pile.

And at the end of it all, she stole my keys, sold a piece of my life for pennies, and truly, deeply believed she was the victim.

I pressed her contact name and hit call.

She picked up on the second ring. The background was chaos—a TV blaring cartoons, a toddler screaming.

"Cassie. Where is the car?" My voice was terrifyingly calm. The kind of quiet that comes right before a hurricane.

"I sold it, Gemma. Weren't you reading my texts?"

"To who?"

"Some junk yard guy. Sal something. He came with a flatbed and towed it away."

"A junk yard guy."

"Yeah! He said it looked pretty beat up, honestly. You should be happy he even gave me the four grand."

I pressed the heel of my hand against my forehead.

"Listen to me very carefully, Cassie. The custom body kit alone on that car was fifty thousand dollars. The total asset is worth three hundred thousand dollars. You selling it for four thousand is called malicious disposal of stolen property. It is a major felony."

"Oh, stop trying to scare me with your lawyer talk. I don’t know anything about cars. I just know it’s way too loud and every time you drive over here, it wakes my kids up from their naps."

"It's my car. Whether it's loud or not is none of your business."

"How is it none of my business? My kids don't sleep, they go to school cranky the next day. Are you going to pay for their therapy when they fall behind?"

"So you stole my car."

"It's not stealing! I used the key you left at my house. You left it there."

"I left it there six months ago when your sedan broke down and I let you borrow mine so you could get groceries. I didn't leave it there so you could pawn my belongings."

"Well, you never asked for it back! I figured you didn't care!"

"Cassie... do you honestly think I'm just going to roll over and take this?"

The line went dead quiet for a second. The cartoons blared in the background.

Then, she laughed. A bitter, ugly sound.

"Don't pull this high-and-mighty crap with me, Gemma. You just have a little bit of dirty money and think you're better than everyone else. Flaunting that obnoxious tank around. Where were you when my kids and I were waiting for the bus in the rain? You're a single woman driving a car the size of a house. Don't you feel even a little bit guilty?"

Hearing those words, the anger suddenly evaporated. It was replaced by a cold, crystalline clarity.

"Cassie. Give me the scrap guy's number. Right now."

"Why would I do that?"

"Fine. Don't."

"What are you gonna do?"

"Just wait," I said softly, and hung up.

A second later, a text came through. What is that supposed to mean? Are you threatening me?

I ignored it. I scrolled through my contacts and found the building manager.

"Gary. I need you to pull the security feed for the underground garage. My spot. The last three days."

"Hey, Gemma. Is everything okay?"

"My car was taken."

"Jesus. Stolen? Did you call the cops?"

"Not yet. I need the footage first."

"I'm on it. Come down to the security office."

I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and walked out of the dim garage, the afternoon sun hitting my face like a slap.

My phone vibrated three times in rapid succession.

Cassie: Gemma, don't try to scare me. I didn't do anything wrong.

Cassie: The scrap guy said it was a piece of junk anyway.

Cassie: If you call the cops, I'll just tell them you gave it to me.

Cassie: It's my word against yours, and I have the key.

I didn't reply.

Cassie: Gemma, come on. My kids are little. Don't do this.

Cassie: Are you seriously going to call the cops?

Cassie: Fine, I'll send you another five hundred bucks when Kevin gets paid. $4,500. Happy?

I looked at the screen, a hollow amusement settling in my chest.

Eight years. Eight years, and I never saw the rot beneath the surface.