27. They Must Do Time
They Must Do Time
Victoria
“Those dirty bitches!” Alyssa shrilled as we stood in the aftermath of my apartment.
I stared at my destroyed diploma and tried to convince myself not to crash out.
How fucking jealous do you have to be to tear up someone’s college diploma because you never accomplished anything in your life?
“I’m so sorry, Ms. Caldwell,” the building manager apologized again.
I glanced up from my shredded diploma and found Ms. Larkin nervously wringing her hands as she surveyed the damage.
“Your family…they said they needed access to your apartment to get some items that could be used to locate you. They claimed there was a search party, and the dogs would need to pick up your scent. Initially, I was uncertain, but I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if I impeded efforts to locate you. ”
I can’t even be mad at her. At least she was trying to bring me back home.
I waved her off and trudged towards the kitchen.
My throat clogged up, and I was on the verge of tears again when I glimpsed the open cabinets and drawers.
They took all my pots, pans, dishes, silverware, and whatever else they could get their greedy hands on.
The bitches even took my fucking toaster.
The toaster, for crying out loud!
I cracked open the freezer, praying that the little fifth of vodka was still in there. I snorted and rolled my eyes at the empty icebox.
Now…I thought it was a sin and a shame to steal a toaster, but these hoes seriously took my damn ice molds.
“Ms. Caldwell, the management company is prepared to cover the expenses of replacing your belongings.”
I stuck my head in the freezer when I felt a hot flash coming on. “I appreciate that, Ms. Larkin. My lawyer will be in contact with you.”
“I’m aware that I am 100% at fault, but must we get legal involved?”
Her voice wavered as she attempted to plead her case, reminding me of a scolded child.
“Ms. Larkin, I don’t hold any ill will towards you or the property management company and don’t intend to sue you. Do I think you were gullible and naive? Absolutely, but your heart was in the right place. Trust me, you’d rather deal with Doug than Mr. Ramsey.”
“Thank you. Thank you, Ms. Caldwell.”
“Just cut me a check for $50,000, and we’ll be squared.”
Did I have $50k worth of shit in my apartment? Hell nah, but I had to add interest for my pain and suffering .
“Yes, ma’am. I have some calls to make.”
She left, and Brittney returned from the bedroom where she’d been dutifully taking pictures on her phone.
“Is it bad?” I asked, still unable to bring myself to enter the bedroom. I already knew the devastation that awaited me.
“It is,” she replied softly. I nodded.
“I need to step out and call Knox. I’ll be back.”
I stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind me and dialed. The first tear slipped when he answered.
“Just the woman I wanted to hear from. How are you doing, darling?”
“Th-th-they took everything!”
“Who took everything? What was taken?”
“M-my fucking sisters ransacked my apartment and stole everything valuable.”
“Did you call the police?”
“Not yet. I called you first.”
“I’m on my way. How did your sisters gain access to your apartment in the first place?”
I briefly explained, and if Knox was pissed before, he was DEFCON 1 now.
“The incompetence is absolutely mind-boggling. This isn’t a mistake. I wouldn’t be surprised if the property management were in on it.”
“Let’s not start pointing fingers. Ms. Larkin said the management company would cut me a check. I’m satisfied with that, and there is no reason to cause more drama.”
“No promises. ETA 15 minutes.”
“If you can’t be kind, then be quiet.”
“Again. No promises,” he said before hanging up.
Welp… I tried.
* * *
The recipe book. They took the fucking recipe book.
I was staring at my empty wall safe when I heard Knox curse boisterously from the living room. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath when he began berating Ms. Larkin. She sobbed when he proclaimed he’d own the building by the evening.
“Damn. That man is really on one,” Brittney commented.
“Can you blame him? Victoria, your sisters are thugs, and they need to do 10 to 15 in super max,” Alyssa remarked with an aloof shrug.
“Let me go save this woman,” I mumbled before poking my head out of the bedroom. “Giovanni, leave that woman alone.”
Hearing his middle name called stopped him in his tracks, and Ms. Larkin had the good sense that God gave her to skedaddle out of the apartment when he was distracted. He sucked his teeth in annoyance and pointed me with a glare.
“You had no right to interfere while I was ‘giving her the business,’ as you would say.”
“You didn’t have to go in on her so hard. She’s remorseful and realizes she made a mistake. What’s done is done.”
“Hmph,” he huffed. “I was prepared for Tori Montana, not Diplomatic Victoria.”
I smirked. “It takes less energy to be Diplomatic Victoria. Look at you, sweating and shaking and shit. You should sit down.”
He threw his hands out in exasperation and yelled, “Sit down where, Victoria? The fucking couch cushion they generously left behind?” His cane thudded against the hardwood floors as he inspected the rest of my barren apartment.
“Oh! Thank fuck they left the clothes hangers! Where would you be without clothes hangers?”
I stifled a laugh because my sisters were royally fucked.
“What did they take from the safe?” he shouted.
“My financial documents, Social Security card, some jewelry, and the recipe book.”
“Have you checked your credit report?”
Alyssa began snapping her fingers. “He’s asking all the right questions. Check your credit report ASAP.”
“Do you need me to hold your hand?” Brittney offered genuinely.
“For what?” I asked, logging into my credit monitoring app.
“Your credit score is about to look like your IQ.”
“I’ve never seen anyone with a single-digit credit score before,” Alyssa ribbed, earning an eye roll from me.
“Haha. You got jokes.”
“Victoria! Join me in the bedroom so we can lie down on the box spring and watch your invisible TV!” Knox shouted.
“All right. I think you’ve made your point,” I commented as my credit report populated.
“Ooooo,” Brittney said, staring down at my 289 credit score. Alyssa hummed the lyrics to “Locked Up” by Akon as I surveyed the damage. I found several delinquent credit cards that were opened in my name since my absence, and if I had to guess, they performed balance transfers for the cash.
Knox entered the living room looking like the devil himself.
“You’re getting a security guard. Scratch that—a team of guards.”
My brows crinkled in confusion.
“I don’t need a security team.”
“What if those crackheads were here lying in wait for you?”
“Crackheads?” I asked incredulously.
“I lived through the eighties—your sisters are crackheads.”
My best friends cackled as I attempted to poorly hold myself back from laughing.
“Every day, you open your mouth and remind me of the significant age gap between us.”
“Not only that, but crackheads are strong. My bike was stolen by a crackhead when I was twelve. Foolishly, I thought I’d fight her.”
“She whooped your ass, didn’t she?” Alyssa asked, amused by his confession. Knox huffed and ran a hand through his hair.
“I thought she was a damn Power Ranger by the time she was done with me.”
A laugh ripped out of me, and I slid to the floor with tears streaming down my face as Knox tried to convince me his story “wasn’t that funny.”
“Oh, my God,” I said, chuckling as I wiped away salty tears. “Thank you for the laugh. I needed it.”
Knox’s frown briefly tugged into a minuscule smile, and he seemed to relax before my eyes.
It would be awful of me to tell him about the identity theft now. The news will rile him up again. I’ll tell him after I put it on him.
“You’re welcome. I apologize for my earlier outburst. I’m sure that added to your stress, but this shit isn’t right. Can you give me some insight on why they hate you so much?”
“They’re jealous,” Brittney piped up.
“That part,” Alyssa added.
I blew a raspberry and pulled myself up from the floor.
“I’ll tell you all about it after I finish filing a police report, but only if we pick up pizza from Vince’s.”
“Let’s because I’m still considering rescinding my marriage proposal because you said his pizza was better than mine.”
“It is. Did you want me to lie to you?”
“Yes,” he replied without hesitation. “At least my feelings would’ve been spared.”
“I’ll remember that for next time.”
Knox and I completed a final walk-through and took additional pictures per Doug’s request after I promised to link up with my friends for brunch the following day.
When we arrived at the police station, I was good and cried out—bloodshot eyes, snot dripping from my nose, salty tear streaks on my cheeks, and a hiccup that wouldn’t quit no matter how many times I yelled, “I’m not a fish! ”
Hope and Faith? I hope you enjoy your freedom while you still can.