Chapter 6 - The Family Summit
By noon, the fallout from the group chat and the missing commercial truck had escalated into a full-scale family crisis. My phone had accumulated forty-two missed calls and over a hundred text messages from various aunts, uncles, and cousins who were suddenly forced to choose sides.
Iris and I were sitting at a sunlit corner booth at our favorite local diner downtown, enjoying a stack of pancakes and hot coffee, completely unbothered by the digital storm raging in our pockets.
Then my phone rang again. This time, the caller ID read: *Arthur Yates (Father)*.
I let it ring three times before sliding my thumb across the screen and pressing it to my ear.
“Fletcher,” my father’s voice crackled through the speaker, sounding older, frailer, and profoundly shaken. “Where are you? We need to talk. Right now.”
“I’m having breakfast with my daughter, Dad,” I replied calmly, cutting a piece of pancake with my fork. “If you want to talk, you know where to find us. But keep in mind, I have the Elmwood Grill event ledger, the credit card statements, and the bank’s fraud division on speed dial.”
There was a tense silence on the line. I could hear heavy breathing and background noise—evidently, my father was sitting in his living room surrounded by Sterling and Paige, who were likely screaming in his ear.
“Your brother is here,” my father said, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. “He’s pacing a hole in my rug. He says his work truck was stolen, and he’s threatening to call the police.”
“Tell him to go ahead and call the police,” I retorted evenly. “Tell him to explain to the responding officers why he’s driving a commercial vehicle financed under a delinquent loan where I hold primary co-signer rights and legal repossession authorization. Let’s see how fast the cops impound it permanently for commercial fraud.”
A muffled shout erupted on the other end of the line—Sterling’s voice, cursing and demanding the phone.
“Fletcher, just come over to my house,” my father pleaded, rubbing his temples. “Please. Let’s sit down like a family and sort this out before lawyers get involved.”
“A family, Dad?” I let out a cold, humorless laugh. “Where was this family sentiment last night when you sat at a dinner I paid for and told my daughter she wasn't the guest of honor? Where was this family respect when Sterling used Elise’s death to humiliate us in front of forty people?”
My father fell silent. The weight of his own complicity seemed to finally crash down on him.
“Bring Iris with you,” my father urged quietly. “Please, Fletcher. I want to make this right.”
I looked across the table at Iris. She had stopped eating, her eyes fixed on me with a quiet question in them. I muted the phone for a second and looked at her.
“Grandpa wants us to come over to his house,” I said softly. “Sterling and Paige are there. Do you want to go, sweetheart, or should we finish our pancakes and go see a movie?”
Iris stared down at her plate for a moment, tracing the rim of her coffee mug. Then she looked up, her chin held high, the lingering shadow of last night completely gone from her posture.
May you like
“Let’s go, Dad,” she said firmly, a spark of quiet defiance in her eyes. “I have nothing to hide. Let’s go see what they have to say for themselves.”
I unmuted the phone. “We’ll be at your house in twenty minutes, Dad. But make sure Sterling and Paige are sitting down and listening. Because the rules have changed.”
