Chapter 5 - The War of the Voicemails
The barrage started at 3:14 p.m.
The first call was from Chelsea, her voice so choked with hysterical sobs that she was practically hyperventilating into the receiver.
*“You ruined my life! You psychotic, jealous bitch! Do you know what you just did to me?! Everyone saw! Chloe was live-streaming! It’s all over social media! I had to take an Uber home with my stuff in trash bags! Dad is going to destroy you! He’s going to sue you for every penny you have! You’re dead to this family, Iris! Do you hear me?! You’re dead!”*
I listened to the recording once, tapped the screen, and saved the MP3 directly into the encrypted cloud folder labeled *Evidence: Collins Family Legal Action.*
Next came my mother.
Eleanor Collins had never raised her voice in her life; her cruelty had always been wrapped in delicate, Southern-style passive-aggression and weaponized fragility. When her voicemail played, her voice trembled with theatrical agony.
*“Iris... how could you? After everything we did to raise you? Your sister is in her bedroom throwing up from panic attacks. Richard had to call an ambulance because my chest was constricting. The paramedics are in our living room right now, Iris. If I have a stroke today, your hands are the ones that caused it. You have always been so cold. So heartless. You couldn’t stand to see Chelsea happy for even one month. God will judge you for this, Iris. Call your father and tell that towing company to return that car before you tear this family apart beyond repair.”*
Save to folder: *Evidence: Collins Family Legal Action.*
Then came Dad.
He didn't sound like a father. He sounded like an enraged warlord whose empire had just suffered an unexpected, devastating breach.
*“Listen to me, you ungrateful parasite. You think you’re untouchable because you hired some hotshot corporate lawyer? I built this family! I gave you life! I took that loan out because you had the credit score to handle it, and any decent daughter would have been honored to help her sister get on her feet! You stole that car off the street like a common thief! I went to the police precinct ten minutes ago. I filed a report for grand larceny. You have until eight o'clock tonight to drop those bogus repo charges and sign the power-of-attorney vehicle transfer over to Chelsea, or I will make sure the Oregon State Board of Examiners revokes your professional engineering license for moral turpitude! Don’t you dare test me, Iris!”*
I pressed pause.
Monica was sitting across the kitchen island, slowly shaking her head in sheer disgust. “He actually admitted it on tape,” she said softly.
“He admitted everything,” I replied, feeling an icy, tranquil calm wash over me.
Dad had just committed the ultimate tactical blunder. In his frantic, narcissistic fury, he had explicitly confirmed on an uncompressed audio recording that he had taken out the loan without my consent because of my credit score, that he expected me to carry the debt, and that he was actively attempting to blackmail me by threatening my professional engineering license.
At 5:30 p.m., my phone chimed with a private, restricted number.
I picked it up. “Iris Collins speaking.”
“Ms. Collins? This is Detective Miller with the Portland Police Department, Property Crimes Division. I’m calling regarding an incident report filed this afternoon by a Mr. Richard Collins.”
The detective’s voice was tired, professional, and entirely devoid of the drama that had consumed my family.
“Good evening, Detective Miller,” I answered calmly. “I assume my father claimed I stole a 2024 BMW from my sister?”
A heavy sigh came over the line. “That is essentially what he reported, ma'am. He claimed you unlawfully seized a family vehicle using an unauthorized third-party tow service.”
“Detective, before we go any further, does your department have access to the Oregon DMV digital database and the state financial crimes portal?”
“Yes, ma'am, I have the terminal open right in front of me.”
“Please run the VIN ending in 8-8-2-1,” I said smoothly. “You will find that the sole registered owner on the title is Iris Elizabeth Collins. You will also find that Pacific Cascade Auto Financial has flagged that exact account as an active identity theft investigation initiated this morning by Evans & Associates. My attorney has already submitted the certified dealership purchase files, which include forged signatures executed by Richard Collins while I was residing in California.”
Keyboard clicking sounded in the background. For nearly two minutes, Detective Miller remained silent.
When he came back on the line, his tone had shifted completely from skeptical investigator to deeply sympathetic officer of the law.
“Ms. Collins... I’m looking at the sales jacket and the lienholder affidavit right now,” Miller said, clearing his throat. “Your name is indeed the sole titleholder. And the signature on the dealership proxy... it doesn't match the signature on your state driver's license on file in the slightest.”
“It doesn't, Detective,” I confirmed. “Because I never signed it. Furthermore, my father left a voicemail on my phone thirty minutes ago explicitly attempting to extort me into signing the vehicle title over to his younger daughter under threat of filing false criminal charges and attempting to tamper with my professional engineering board certification.”
“Did he leave that on a recorded voicemail?” Miller asked sharply.
“I have the high-definition audio file, along with twelve text messages and five prior voicemails detailing his intent,” I replied. “My attorney, Marcus Evans, is cc’d on this call via our firm line. He can transmit the digital evidence package to your precinct within sixty seconds.”
“Please do that immediately, Ms. Collins,” Detective Miller said, his voice tightening. “Filing a false police report is a class A misdemeanor under Oregon Revised Statute 162.375. Attempting to extort an individual into transferring property through coercion and fraudulent official reporting elevates this to a felony intimidation and fraud inquiry. I will be having a very serious conversation with your father this evening.”
“Thank you, Detective.”
“Stay safe, Ms. Collins. And keep your doors locked.”
I hung up the phone.
Monica let out a long breath, raising her wine glass toward me. “Checkmate, Iris.”
May you like
“Not yet,” I murmured, opening my laptop to look at the financial spreadsheet Marcus had sent over an hour earlier. “Securing the car was just defense. Now it’s time to find out what else my father has stolen from me over the last ten years.”
***
