Chapter 3 - Country RoadsDinner started normally. Roast beef, green beans, potatoes, Grandpa's crystal glasses that only came out on Sundays. Brynn dominated the conversation — imaginary clients, imaginary meetings, business opportunities that were "finally taking off." Mom nodded proudly through every word of it.

I ate quietly. Then Brynn started talking about the SUV.

"It handles beautifully," she said. "Especially on country roads."

Grandpa stopped cutting his meat. "Country roads?"

"Yeah, I drove toward the edge of town yesterday. Might help with some work at your farmhouse."

I almost looked up. Grandpa owned an old farmhouse about thirty miles out — property that had once belonged to my grandmother's family. Nobody visited it much.

Grandpa lowered his fork. "Is that right?"

Something shifted in his voice. Mom looked at me — the old silent command passing across the table. Fix this.

I set down my fork. "I wouldn't know how it handles on country roads." Grandpa turned toward me. "I liked driving it," I continued. "The one day I actually got to drive it."

Silence. Grandpa's face hardened. "The one day?"

"The day you gave it to me."

Mom jumped in immediately. "Wallace, this is being made into something it isn't. We're family. Brynn needed transportation, and Amara has been perfectly capable of—"

Grandpa raised one hand. Mom stopped talking, just like that.

Then he turned to Brynn. "You drove the SUV toward the farmhouse yesterday?"

She swallowed. "Yes."

Grandpa pushed his chair back. The legs scraped the hardwood. He stood slowly, cane in hand, then struck it against the floor once. Brynn flinched.

"That's interesting," he said. He reached into his pocket. "Because I had a tracker installed in that vehicle."

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Brynn's face drained white. So did Mom's.

That was when I understood this was about far more than my car.