I never told my parents I was a federal judge. To them, I was still “the loser”… until my sister stole my car, h.i.t a man, and fled. My mother grabbed my shoulders and yelled, “Say you were driving!” Then I asked my sister, “Did you do it?” She smiled. “Yes. Who’s going to believe you?” I pulled out my phone and said, “Open the courthouse. I have the evidence.”

Chapter 1: The Weight of the Wreckage

“You have no future anyway. Tell them you were driving,” the voice of Irene erupted in the garage like a heavy stone shattering a quiet window.

Kendall Harris felt the sharp, manicured nails of her mother, Irene, dig deep into her shoulders, piercing through the fabric of her black blazer as if they were talons seeking a grip.

Behind them, the gray sedan sat crumpled across the sidewalk in the quiet neighborhood of Maple Ridge, its front bumper twisted into a mangled mess, a headlight dangling by a wire, and dark, unsettling stains speckled across the dented fender.

They definitely were not oil stains.

Her younger sister, Jasmine, stood beside the damaged car, wrapped in an expensive, pristine white wool coat, her makeup applied with flawless precision, though her lips were trembling with a mixture of rage and cold indifference.

She did not look like someone who had just committed a crime; she looked deeply offended that the harsh reality of the world had dared to touch her personal space.

“Mom, please, you need to let me go right now,” Kendall said, her voice remaining eerily calm despite the adrenaline surging through her veins.

That quiet, composed tone only served to enrage Irene further.

“Calm down? You think this is the time to be calm after the absolute disaster you have created tonight?”

Kendall looked her mother in the eyes and replied, “I did not create this disaster, and I certainly did not do anything to deserve this treatment.”

Just then, her father, Thomas, stumbled out from the side gate, his face dripping with nervous sweat even though the night air was crisp and biting.

“The patrol car is turning onto the street, I can hear the sirens,” he muttered, his eyes darting frantically between his two daughters. “We have to fix this story before they arrive here, or we are all finished.”