Part 2
On the camera feed, Arthur circled the house with a flashlight, testing windows. When he found nothing unlocked, he reached the utility box and pulled the main breaker. The house went black for five seconds. Then the backup batteries engaged, and the lights returned warm and steady. Arthur stared at the glowing windows, stunned. He had forgotten I designed the place to survive storms.
Around two in the morning, the Buick’s interior light went off. They reclined their seats. They were actually sleeping in my driveway. Wrapped in a blanket, I opened my laptop and searched the Ohio property records. The sale was real: $620,000. Their house had been paid off years ago. Even after Chloe’s debts, there should have been money left. So why were they broke?
I checked Chloe’s public Instagram. Four hours earlier, she had posted champagne from a luxury resort, captioned with “New beginnings” and hashtags about crypto and generational wealth. Two days before that, she had posted a bright yellow Porsche Boxster with a giant red bow.
My parents had not just saved her from debt. They had handed her their life’s work, bought her a luxury image, and poured the rest into whatever fantasy business she was chasing. They were ruined, and I was their backup plan. At dawn, the yellow Porsche rolled into my driveway. Chloe stepped out wearing sunglasses and a white faux-fur coat, looking like she had arrived at a photoshoot instead of a disaster.
“Ew. Why is all our stuff outside? Did you guys seriously sleep in the car?”
“Carter wouldn’t open the door,” Martha said weakly.
Chloe looked up at me on the balcony.
“Carter! Stop being dramatic and open the door. Mom looks half dead, and I need to plug in my ring light.”
“Nice car, Chloe. Does it come with a heated garage, or do you sleep in the trunk?”
“Don’t be jealous. It’s a business asset for my personal brand.”
“You have hundreds of thousands in business assets. Go buy a space heater.”
Her smile vanished.
“It’s not liquid cash. It’s capital investment. Mom and Dad are my seed investors. I’m going to quadruple their retirement in six months.”
“If they’re so wealthy, why did they sleep in a Buick?”
Arthur slammed his car door.
“That is enough! We only need to stay until the portfolio matures. Six months. A year at most.”
“A year? You expect me to let you squat in my house while she gambles with your life savings and drives a leased Porsche?”
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