Chapter 3 - The Cold Wake-Up Call
At 11:15 a.m. the following morning, I was sitting at my desk at the firm. I had spent the early morning checking emails, reviewing financial reports, and ensuring my work schedule was completely clear for the afternoon. My phone lay face down on the polished mahogany wood.
At precisely 11:18, it began to vibrate furiously across the desk.
The screen flashed: MOM.
I let it ring until it stopped. Five seconds later, it started again. Then my father’s number popped up. Then my brother Mark’s. A barrage of text messages began flooding in like a digital avalanche.
MOM: Catherine pick up the phone right now! MARK: What the hell did you do to the credit cards?! DAD: You better answer this phone before I lose my temper!
I waited another two minutes, deliberately letting their anxiety stew. Then, I tapped the record button on my computer’s audio software, swiped to answer my mother’s fifth consecutive call, and placed the phone on speaker in the center of my quiet office.
"Catherine!" my mother’s voice erupted through the speaker, so loud and shrill that it distorted the microphone. Background noise echoed around her—the sound of luggage wheels rolling, echoes of high ceilings, and frantic voices. They were standing in a hotel lobby. "What the hell is going on with the cards?! We are standing in the middle of the resort lobby with six bags and the boys, and the manager just told us our reservation is canceled and the card was declined!"
In the background, I heard my father screaming at a front desk clerk: "Check it again! My daughter is a partner at an accounting firm, of course the damn card works!"
"Catherine, do you hear me?!" Theresa screeched. "Transfer $5,000 into my checking account right now! It’s deeply embarrassing—people are staring at us! Mark’s kids are crying because they won't let us into our suite!"
I leaned back in my leather chair, crossed my legs, and adjusted my pen. "Hello, Theresa."
The abrupt use of her first name caught her off guard. She paused for a fraction of a second before roaring back, "Don't 'Theresa' me! Fix the cards right now! The front desk says the charges were flagged as fraudulent!"
"They weren't flagged by accident, Theresa," I said, my voice as calm as still water. "I canceled them. I revoked your user status, revoked Dad’s, and revoked Mark’s."
A sudden, sharp silence fell over the line. Even my father’s shouting in the background seemed to cut off abruptly.
"You... you what?" my mother whispered, her tone shifting from rage to utter disbelief. "Are you insane?! We are in Florida! How are we supposed to pay for the rooms? How are we supposed to buy food?"
"I don't know," I said casually. "Maybe you can leave your luggage on the side of the road and walk away from it. That seems to be your preferred method for dealing with things that become inconvenient."
"Catherine, stop this nonsense!" my mother barked, her panic flaring back into sharp aggression. "We told you, yesterday was an emergency! Abigail got sick! She was throwing up in the middle of a rental van! My grandbabies were getting disgusted! We had a tight schedule to hit the beach house, and we were running late! We left her somewhere safe near a store!"
"There was no store, Theresa," I replied, each word razor-sharp. "There were no people. It was a utility pole on an empty state highway in ninety-degree heat. You abandoned an eight-year-old child on the shoulder of a road like a bag of trash."
"She’s fine!" Theresa yelled back defensively. "You picked her up, didn't you?! She’s with you! Stop being so dramatic and making everything about you! We are your family, and you are stranding us in another state!"
"You aren't my family," I said smoothly. "You are financial parasites. And as of midnight, the bank account is dry."
"Listen to me, you ungrateful little bitch!" my father’s deep voice suddenly thundered into the receiver as he grabbed the phone from my mother. "You bring those credit cards back online this second, or so help me God, I will come back to that house and—"
"And what, Robert?" I interrupted, my tone dropping an octave, freezing him in his tracks. "You’ll hit me? You’ll scream at me? You don't have a car. The rental van company has already been notified that the authorized payer has canceled the lease. If that van isn't returned to the rental lot within two hours, they will report it stolen."
"Catherine, please!" my brother Mark’s voice whined in the background, frantic and desperate. "We have the kids here! We don't have enough cash on us to pay for three hotel rooms for a week! Just unlock the card for today!"
"Figure it out, Mark," I said. "You’re thirty-six years old. You wanted a luxury vacation? Pay for it yourself. Oh, and by the way—don't bother going to the airport on Monday. I canceled all six of your return flight tickets. Enjoy the drive back."
"Catherine! No! You can't—"
May you like
I tapped the screen, ending the call. Then, I systematically blocked every single one of their phone numbers, social media profiles, and email addresses.
I picked up my pen and went back to work.
