Chapter 17
NETTIE
Nettie’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Her pulse thrummed hard in her ears as she stared across the parking lot at the sad, humiliating sight of her car.
The little silver sedan she’d been so proud of—because it was hers, because it was paid off, because it had always, always started when she needed it currently looked like roadkill waiting for the vultures.
Two tires sagged flat against the asphalt, rubber warped and wrinkled in defeat. Across the windshield, scrawled in a thick wax crayon like some childish prank, were the yellow letters:
AUCTION.
The word screamed at her, cruel and final.
It wasn’t the fanciest car in the lot. Not even close. In fact, it was probably the sorriest vehicle parked out there among the polished SUVs and gleaming sedans. But it had been hers. Reliable. Safe. A little piece of independence. And now—
Her throat tightened, the pressure of panic rising as she tried to blink back the sting in her eyes. Saturday. Five o’clock. The service department was closed because she had nothing but bad luck some days, so of course, it was closed. They probably closed the second she arrived.
Dragging her feet, Nettie walked back inside, clutching her phone like it might save her.
No one was answering—she’d tried three times.
Gina had already dropped her off in a rush for class.
Tate had practice. And she would rather chew glass than bother her boss on the weekend.
She was stuck. Stranded. Trapped in this stupid situation.
A knot twisted in her chest. She hated this—hated the helplessness.
“Miss Yarborough?”
The voice startled her, and Nettie turned to see a salesman strolling her way, hand raised in a polite wave. His suit jacket was a little loose at the shoulders, his graying hair combed neatly to the side. He had the kind of practiced smile she usually distrusted immediately.
“Are you Miss Yarborough?”
“Yes.” Her words came out thin, clipped, teetering on the edge of tears. “I’m trying to pick up my car, but service has closed. My friend said the keys would be at the cashiers—but those aren’t my keys.”
“They aren’t?” The man’s brows pinched with concern. “That’s odd. I got the keys out of the night drop box as instructed by my boss. Hmm. Well, let’s see if I can help you out.”
Nettie shook her head quickly, hugging her arms across her chest as if holding herself together. “Look, I just need a ride home because they haven’t fixed the tire yet—and now I need two of them. I guess I picked up another nail or something, and I’m sorry—I’m just beyond frustrated right now.”
The salesman’s expression softened, his tone gentling.
“Here—why don’t you come sit down for a moment, and I’ll handle this.
I’ve got a daughter about your age, and my wife would have my hide if I didn’t help someone out, you know?
We believe in karma—and I’d like to think someone would take care of my Olivia if she looked upset too. ”
The mention of his daughter cracked something in Nettie’s chest. She nodded mutely and let him guide her, step by step, into a small office tucked off the main floor.
The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the air faintly scented with fresh coffee and car polish.
She sank into a chair opposite his desk, her legs trembling.
With fumbling fingers, she pulled out her phone.
Hey—there is a guy here who said he grabbed the keys from the night drop box. I’ll keep you posted on what’s going on…
She hit send to Tate, then sat frozen in her chair, staring at the screen as though his name might appear instantly with a solution. It didn’t. Minutes dragged. The silence grew heavy. Then footsteps sounded in the hallway, firmer, more purposeful.
A second man entered, trailed by the older salesman. The newcomer was dressed sharply in a dark suit, his stride brisk, his smile practiced and bright.
“Miss Yarborough?”
“Yes?” Her voice wobbled, though she tried to steady it.
“I’m David Yancy, the sales manager of the dealership and—”
“I’m not buying a car.” The words burst out of her in a panicked choke. Her chest squeezed tight as she looked between the two men, both wearing those salesman grins that made her skin crawl. “I just want the keys to my car and I’m going to take it somewhere else to get the tires put on.”
“Tires?” David glanced at the other man, alarm flickering. “Ollie, does her car need tires?”
“She said it does, but I just looked and it’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” Nettie’s voice cracked, sharp with disbelief. “It’s not fine - at all. There are two flat tires, and some jokester wrote ‘auction’ across the windshield.”
David’s smile faltered. “Oh, I can see how that would be upsetting to you.” He frowned, exchanging a puzzled look with Ollie, who only shrugged. “Can you show me where your car is parked?”
“Seriously?” Nettie gaped at them, her whole body shaking now.
Her nerves were raw, stretched to breaking, and tears stung the corners of her eyes.
Salesmen always had some kind of trick up their sleeves, some smooth-talking voodoo that left people signing on dotted lines they didn’t understand until it was too late.
She wasn’t about to fall into that trap.
Not today. “It’s parked on the side of the building with two flat tires. ”
David lifted something in his hand, his expression unreadable. A ball of yarn keychain dangled there—hers. Her quirky little USB charger keychain that she got at a craft store.
“That’s your keychain?”
Nettie’s chest tightened. “That’s my keys—yes.”
David’s smile spread slowly, confidently, as though everything had just fallen neatly into place.
He pressed the button. Across the showroom, a sleek black Mercedes sedan chirped to life, headlights flashing like eyes winking at her.
A massive red bow sat on the hood like something out of a holiday commercial.
“Look, no flat tires. I believe that if this is your keychain, then that is your car, Miss Yarborough…”
Nettie’s mouth went dry.
Her knees wobbled.
“That’s not…” Her words trailed off into nothing. The showroom blurred around her as her vision swam. Then, as if gravity had betrayed her, she sank down, legs folding until she landed on the cold tile floor. “That’s not my car…”
David crouched beside her, voice soft and gentle, like he understood that she was beyond reasoning, but he still had a job to do – and that was to convince her that he was right. “But you said this is your keychain… right? This little ball of cords that looks like yarn?”
The older man leaned down, chuckling kindly, and offered a steadying hand. “I’m Ollie, if you ever need anything—just feel free to let me know and I will handle everything. Mr. Cassidy said you weren’t to worry about a thing—ever.”
Mr. Cassidy?
This was… Tate’s doing?
“He didn’t…” Nettie’s whisper was hoarse, broken, disbelief cracking her words apart. Her heart fluttered wildly, panic colliding with shock. “He couldn’t… and Gina? Oh my gosh – Gina…”
Her head dropped into her hands, a sob breaking free. The weight of everything—the flat tires, the fight with Tate that kept her up all night worrying, the stress of the missing car, Gina rushing off— it poured out all at once. Her whole body trembled as she tried to make sense of the impossible.
Gina hadn’t had class today.
She was in on this… whatever this was.
Her gaze darted upward, locking onto their sympathetic yet smiling expressions. The pieces clicked, one by one, tumbling into place.
“Miss Cassidy got her Lexus from the other lot, but she screamed instead of getting upset. We’re here to help with things, not make them worse,” Ollie chuckled softly, extending his hand again.
“Mr. Cassidy likes things handled quietly, so if you’d like to come back to my office, we can sign all the papers so you are legal.
He was very specific that both names be on the title so if you had any problems at all, you could handle things. ”
Nettie’s world tilted sideways. She blinked rapidly, her face wet, heart stammering. “He can’t… he can’t do this… can he? I must be dreaming. He didn’t, he couldn’t, we’re fighting and…”
“He texted my cell phone this morning,” David interrupted gently. He held out his phone, showing the screen. Nettie’s breath hitched, her knees weakening until Ollie and another salesman caught her arms, steadying her before she could collapse again.
There, clear as day, were the messages.
I had my friend’s car towed in. Put her in a new four-door sedan on the showroom floor. She pays for nothing. Concierge service, oil changes, title in her name. The works.
Take care of her, David – her name is Bernadette Yarborough.
Always.
Thanks!
You got it. We’ll make her happy…
The words blurred through Nettie’s tears, undeniable.
“Will this one work? Or would you like a different color?” David asked softly, gesturing toward the Mercedes. “He said to take care of you. Do you like this car?”
Nettie swayed, her throat closing. “I need a chair,” she whispered.
Three men scrambled at once, nearly tripping over each other in their hurry to fetch her one.
Nettie collapsed into the seat they placed beneath her, clutching her phone like a lifeline.
She checked her phone once again, and Tate’s name glowed on the screen.
The message she had texted Tate was marked ‘Read’.
He read it – and didn’t respond.
“I need five minutes, please… alone,” Nettie managed to mumble as she quickly dialed Tate’s number, only for him not to answer again. She covered her eyes, trying to hold back tears, feelings of anxiety, and doubt churning within her.