Chapter 1

Linda Brooks, my brother James Foster's wife, had been borrowing my car for six months, but she never once put gas in it.

Every time she returned it, the gas gauge sat on the last bar, barely above empty.

When I said something, she'd always wave it off. "We're family. Why make a fuss about it?"

This time, I drove my tank all the way down to the red line before lending it to her.

I never expected James to call that night, yelling before I could even speak, "I just put 150 dollars' worth of gas in last month! How is there none left?"

I froze, completely stunned.

*****

Linda called again, saying, "Sophie, I need to borrow your car tomorrow."

It wasn't a request. It was a demand.

I gripped my phone and stared out the window.

This was the third time that month alone.

Six months earlier, Linda had asked to borrow my car to drive her son to after-school activities, saying she didn't have a vehicle of her own.

I'd agreed, thinking we were family.

But the favors never stopped.

What started as once a week turned into three times, then nearly every other day.

What stung most was the gas. Every return left the tank on fumes.

I'd brought it up more than once. "Linda, could you fill the tank before you give it back?"

She always acted like it was the most unreasonable thing in the world. "We're family. Why make a fuss about it?

"I didn't even drive it that far. How much gas could I have used?"

James always stood beside her, backing her up. "Sophie, Linda has it rough with the kid and groceries. Just think of it as helping out the family."

I didn't argue, but I kept a quiet tally in my head.

In six months, I'd filled the tank at least ten times, spending 100 to 150 dollars each time.

All told, I'd dropped over 1000 dollars on gas, while Linda hadn't contributed a cent.

This time, a plan popped into my head.

"Sure. Come get the keys tomorrow morning," I said.

I hung up and started my car right away, looping around the neighborhood until the gauge hit the red line.

The dashboard showed only 9 miles of range left.

A cold smile touched my lips.

She wanted to use my car for free? She'd learn what it felt like to run out of gas.

The next morning, Linda showed up to pick up the keys.

She wore a brand-new wool coat and carried a designer bag, playing the part of a wealthy housewife perfectly.

"Where's the car parked?" she asked.

"B3, spot 22 in the underground garage." I handed over the keys.

She turned to leave without so much as a thank you.

I watched her walk away, a jumble of feelings twisting in my chest.

At just past seven that evening, I was cooking dinner when my phone rang.

It was James. "Sophie, did you burn through all the gas in the car last month?"

I blinked in confusion. "No. Why?"

His voice was full of frustration on the other end. "Then where did it go? I put 150 dollars' worth in just last month. Linda drove onto the highway and ran out of gas. She almost got into an accident!"

The spatula in my hand froze mid-air. "Wait, you put gas in my car last month?"

James snapped, "Of course I did! The 15th of last month, I stopped at Pinehurst Energy specifically and filled it halfway. I couldn't let her borrow your car this long without doing something, right?"

My mind went completely blank.

I had indeed lent Linda the car on the 15th of last month.

But when she brought it back, the gauge was still on one bar.

I'd assumed she'd drained it again and filled it myself with 130 dollars.

If James had really put 150 dollars' worth in, where had all that gas gone?

"James, are you sure you put it in my car?"

"Come on, how could I mess that up? It was your white Corolla. I even remember the plate number," James retorted.

I took a deep breath. "I have no idea then. Maybe... the gas gauge is broken?"

James shouted louder, "Seriously, what could possibly be wrong with the gas gauge?

"You always use up so much gas, and now you're being stingy when Linda borrows your car, right?"

I squeezed my phone so tight my knuckles whitened. "James, calm down—"

He retorted, "How am I supposed to calm down? Linda stalled on the highway and was stuck for over an hour. My son was terrified!

"You don't even know if your own car has enough gas, and you still lend it out? That's just setting her up."

I tried to say something, but nothing came out.

Then James hung up on me.

I stood in the kitchen, my hands shaking.

The dish on the stove had burned completely, but I couldn't even care about the burnt food anymore.

Only one thought raced through my head: where had James' 150 dollars' worth of gas gone?

If I hadn't used it, there was only one possibility: Linda must have drained the tank and taken the gas right out.

I pulled out my phone and flipped through old photos.

Sure enough, I'd taken a picture of the car when she returned it on the 15th.

The gas gauge was on one bar, just like always.

I scrolled through every photo I'd taken of the car after Linda returned it over six months.

Every single one. One bar of gas left.

Suddenly, I remembered something else.

At the end of last month, I'd taken the car in for maintenance, and the technician said it had driven over 12000 miles in six months.

I'd only driven 5000 miles myself.

The other 7000? A cold chill ran down my spine.

I sucked in a sharp breath in horror.

What on earth had Linda been doing with my car?