“Dad gave it to me!” he screamed, struggling as Martinez grabbed his wrist to cuff him. “It’s a family car, you selfish be asterisk tch. Dad said it was mine!”
“You have the right to remain silent,” Martinez intoned, snapping the cuffs shut.
The metallic click echoed across the parking lot, a sound of finality that Lucas had clearly never expected to hear.
“Call Dad!” Lucas was yelling now, thrashing as Martinez marched him toward the cruiser. “Elina, tell him to stop. You’re arresting your own brother. For a car? For a stupid car?”
“It’s not just a car,” I said, stepping closer, looking him dead in the eye as Martinez pushed him into the back seat—the hard plastic seat I had avoided. “It’s my life, and you’re not entitled to it.”
As Martinez shut the door on Lucas’s screaming face, my phone rang. It was Dad. He must have been trying to reach Lucas and gotten no answer. Or maybe Lucas had managed to text him before the cuffs went on. I answered, putting it on speaker so Martinez, who was walking back to me, could hear.
“Elina.” Dad’s voice was a roar. “I’m calling Lucas and he’s not picking up. I checked the app. Why is the car at a liquor store? I told him to go straight home.”
“Lucas can’t come to the phone right now, Dad,” I said, watching my brother kick the window of the police car.
“What—why are you with him?”
“I’m with the police,” I said calmly. “Lucas has just been arrested for grand theft auto and driving with a suspended license. The car is being impounded.”
There was a silence on the other end, so profound it felt like the line had been cut. Then a sound I had never heard from my father: pure, unadulterated panic mixed with fury.
“You—you did what?” he whispered. “You arrested your brother, your pregnant brother.”
“I reported my car stolen,” I corrected him. “You and Lucas did the rest.”
“Fix this!” he screamed, his voice shredding. “Tell them it was a mistake. Tell them I gave him permission. If you don’t fix this right now, Elina, so help me God, you are no daughter of mine. I will disown you. I will throw you out of the family.”
I looked at Officer Martinez. He was watching me, waiting to see if I would fold. This was the dynamic my father relied on—the threat of exile, the fear of being an orphan.
“You can’t disown me, Dad,” I said, my voice icy and clear, “because I’m the only one with any assets left to own. And as for the car, it’s going to the police impound. If you want to bail Lucas out, I suggest you sell your boat, because I’m not paying for it.”
I hung up.
“Officer,” I said, turning to Martinez, “can I please retrieve my spare key from his pocket before you take him away?”
The adrenaline crash that followed the arrest was brutal. I didn’t get my car back that night. Because it was evidence in a felony theft and because the driver was unlicensed, it had to be towed to the impound lot. I had to pay an Uber to take me home to my empty driveway.
The silence in my house was different now. It wasn’t the silence of peace. It was the silence of a fortress under siege. My phone became a weapon I was afraid to touch. It buzzed incessantly. Seventeen missed calls from Mom. Twelve from Dad. Texts from numbers I didn’t save but recognized as aunts and cousins. How could you do this to your family? He has a baby coming. Your father is in the hospital with chest pains because of you. Selfish.
The chest pains were a classic Gary Rossi move. He used his health like a hostage whenever he lost control of a situation. I knew logically that it was a manipulation tactic, but the guilt was a physical weight, heavy and suffocating.
I needed to fortify my position. I couldn’t just rely on the police report. I knew my family. They would lie to the DA. They would claim I gave verbal permission. They would say I was unstable, jealous, vindictive. I sat down at my computer and opened a new browser window. I needed to know the full extent of what I was dealing with.
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