Chapter 5 - The Repo Man Cometh
By Thursday morning, forty-eight hours after Christmas, the Brennan household in Hartwell had become ground zero for a neighborhood spectacle.
The heated driveway—the pride of Kenneth’s winter routine—had been shut off by the installer after Kenneth’s check for twelve thousand dollars bounced with an administrative fee attached. A dusting of gray, dirty slush had settled over the unsealed pavers.
In the driveway, parked where Tyler’s truck used to sit, was a rusted sedan belonging to Brooke, Tyler’s girlfriend. Inside the house, the shouting had been going on for two hours.
“You told me you owned the boat, Tyler!” Brooke’s voice shrieked from the open front door, loud enough to carry across the street to where Mrs. Gable was pretending to prune her dormant rose bushes. “You told me you had an equity share in a logistics startup! You’re twenty-eight years old and you don't even have a credit score!”
“It was a family trust, Brooke! Keep your voice down!” Tyler yelled back, his face crimson, his hands frantically stuffing his clothes into a duffel bag. “My sister hacked the company accounts! It’s a corporate embezzlement scheme! My lawyer is handling it!”
“You don't have a lawyer!” Brooke shouted, throwing a set of silver boat keys onto the marble tile floor. They clattered loudly against the stone. “The repo guys were at the marina this morning with an Indianapolis police escort, Tyler! They hauled the boat out of the water right in front of the club commodore! I was so humiliated I had to leave my car keys with the valet because your card wouldn't cover the bar tab!”
“Brooke, please—”
“Don’t touch me!” she snapped, backing away toward the door. “I’m going back to my apartment. Don’t call me. Don’t come by. And if your father’s creditors call my phone one more time asking for references, I’m filing a harassment complaint!”
She slammed the heavy oak door behind her so hard the decorative Christmas wreath slipped from its hook and fell into the dirt.
Inside the living room, Kenneth sat on the edge of the leather sectional, his head in his hands. The house was cold. The smart thermostat had locked itself in economy mode after the home automation subscription failed to renew.
Joanne stood by the kitchen counter, staring blankly at a stack of white envelopes that had arrived in that morning’s mail.
“The country club suspended your membership, Kenneth,” she said. Her voice wasn't angry anymore. It was flat, hollowed out, drained of all emotion. “They said you have ten days to settle the six-thousand-dollar dining minimum or they’re posting your name on the delinquent board in the clubhouse lobby.”
Kenneth didn't move. “They won't do that. Bob Miller is the club president. We’ve played golf together for twenty years.”
“Bob Miller called an hour ago,” Joanne said, not looking up from the letters. “He told me to tell you that business is business, and if the check isn't certified by Friday, your locker will be cleaned out.”
Kenneth slowly lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot, his silver hair uncombed. In two days, he seemed to have aged ten years. The blustering, domineering patriarch who had commanded the Christmas table was gone, replaced by a frightened, aging man staring into an abyss of his own making.
“She’s doing this to destroy me,” Kenneth whispered, his voice trembling with venom. “She planned this. She waited until Christmas, waited until she was in my house, just to humiliate me.”
“She didn't plan this, Kenneth,” Joanne said, finally turning to face him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but there was an unfamiliar steel in her voice. “You kicked her out. You looked at our granddaughter—a five-year-old child—and you screamed at her over a glass of water. You told Lucia she was a failure. You pointed at that door and told her to get out.”
“Because she disrespected me!” Kenneth shouted, slamming his hand onto the armrest. “A man has a right to respect in his own home!”
“With what?” Joanne cried, her voice cracking as she took two steps toward him. “Respect bought with what, Kenneth? With her money? Every piece of furniture you’re sitting on, every bite of food we ate for dinner, the very roof over our heads for the last three years—it was all her! And you didn't even know! You didn't even care to ask!”
“She should have told me!”
“If she told you, would you have thanked her?” Joanne demanded, stepping into his face. “Would you, Kenneth? Tell me the truth! If Lucia had walked into this house three years ago and said, ‘Dad, your business is failing, here is eight thousand dollars a month to save you,’ what would you have done?”
Kenneth froze. His jaw worked silently, but no sound came out.
Joanne laughed—a dry, bitter sound. “You would have thrown her out then, too. You would have told her she was insulting your pride. You would have called her arrogant. And then you would have let this house go into foreclosure before you ever admitted your daughter was more successful than you.”
Tyler walked into the kitchen, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “Mom, shut up. We need a plan. My truck is gone, Brooke dumped me, and my bank account is negative four hundred dollars. We have to do something.”
“What do you suggest, Tyler?” Joanne asked coldly. “Are you going to get a job?”
Tyler scoffed, crossing his arms. “A job? At what, eighty bucks an hour? That won't even cover the interest on the credit cards! No. We’re going to Austin.”
Kenneth looked up, his brow furrowing. “Austin?”
“Yes,” Tyler said, his eyes narrowing with desperate determination. “Meridian AI is a private company, but they have an office downtown. Lucia isn't answering her phone because she’s hiding behind her screen. She thinks she can sit in Texas and ruin our lives without looking us in the eye. We drive down there, we walk into her office, and we demand what is ours.”
“Demand what?” Joanne asked, horrified. “Tyler, you can’t just demand money from her!”
“She’s my sister!” Tyler yelled. “And Dad is her father! She owes us! She used family funds to start that company—I know she did! She had that old laptop Dad bought her for high school graduation! We have an equity claim!”
Kenneth slowly stood up. The desperate, predatory logic took root in his mind like a weed finding water.
“An equity claim,” Kenneth murmured. “I provided the foundation. I raised her. I paid for her childhood. Without me, there is no Meridian AI.”
Joanne stared at her husband and son as if they had transformed into complete strangers. “You two have lost your minds,” she whispered. “You have completely lost your minds.”
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“Pack a bag, Joanne,” Kenneth ordered, that old, toxic authority creeping back into his voice. “We’re taking the Cadillac before the dealer files the repossession warrant. We’re going to Texas.”
***
