Chapter 2

I took a half-day off work the next morning and headed straight to the auto dealership.

"Ms. Foster, back for maintenance again?" Mark Jones, the service associate who knew me well, greeted me.

"No. I need to pull the service records and mileage history for my car."

Mark looked surprised but pulled up the system anyway. "Your last routine maintenance was on the 28th of last month, with 26315 miles on the odometer."

"What's it at now?" I asked.

He checked the screen. "27228 miles."

I did the math in my head.

Over 900 miles in less than a month, and I'd only driven 186 myself.

The rest had to be Linda.

"Can you pull the records from the last six months?" I asked.

A few taps on the keyboard, and he had the data. "Six months ago, it was at 23115 miles. Now it's at 27228. That's 4113 miles added," he said.

I had my answer.

Over the past six months, I'd only used the car for work and the occasional weekend outing. No more than 2500 miles.

The other 1600 miles? That was all Linda.

Sixteen hundred miles translated to over 200 liters of gas, even with city fuel efficiency.

At current prices, that was well over 500 dollars.

And Linda hadn't paid a penny.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. "Mark, can you print a full service report with every mileage reading?"

"No problem," he replied.

With the records in hand, I visited the nearby Pinehurst Energy stations.

James had said he'd filled up there, and only two locations were close to my neighborhood.

At the first gas station, I gave them the license plate number and date.

The clerk searched for quite a while, then shook their head. "No record."

The second one was different.

"Yes. 3:22 PM on the 15th of last month. Your car refueled with 150 dollars' worth of Premium 91-93 AKI gasoline, totaling 64.5 liters."

I asked for a copy of the fuel receipt.

The evidence was solid.

James had definitely put gas in the car.

But Linda had returned it empty the next day.

Even if she'd driven the car nonstop, she couldn't have burned through 64.5 liters in a single day.

Only one explanation made sense: she'd siphoned the gas out.

No, a far worse thought hit me.

Was she using my car to make money, driving for rideshare services?

I pulled out my phone and searched online.

Siphon pumps were sold everywhere for just a few dozen dollars.

If Linda was siphoning gas and selling it to scrap buyers, or using my car to earn cash, and pocketing the gas money? The more I thought about it, the more unsettled I felt.

My phone rang just then. It was an unknown number.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Is this Sophie Foster?" the voice on the other end asked.

"Yeah, that's me," I replied.

"I'm calling from your car insurance company. I need to confirm a claim with you," the customer service rep said.

My heart skipped a beat. "What claim?"

"On the 20th of last month, your car was in a minor fender bender. A 250-dollar claim was filed and deposited into your account," she explained.

My mind went blank.

"I didn't file any claim," I said.

"Wait, really?" The rep sounded confused. "But the records—"

"Can you send me the full details, including accident photos?" I asked.

"Sure, just a moment," she replied.

After I hung up, my hands were shaking.

Minutes later, an email landed in my inbox.

I opened the photos, and there was my car, with a clear scrape on the rear bumper.

I'd had no idea this had happened.

It meant Linda wasn't just borrowing my car. She'd gotten into an accident, hidden it from me, and used my insurance to pay for repairs.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to stay calm.

Confronting her outright would be useless; she'd deny everything.

I needed more proof.

I dialed my best friend Emily Carter, an attorney sharp as a tack.

"Hey Sophie, what's going on? You don't usually call me out of the blue," Emily said.

"Emily, I need your help..." I said.

Then, I told her everything from start to finish.

There was a short silence on the line.

Then, Emily gasped, "Let me get this straight. Linda borrows your car for six months, doesn't pay for gas, siphons the gas your brother bought, and might be using your car for illegal rideshare?"

"I only suspect that part. I need proof," I said.

Emily said, her tone calm and professional, "Proof is easy to get. First, pull the footage from your dash cam if you have one.

"Second, check rideshare platforms for accounts registered with your license plate.

"Third, ask your property management for security footage to see where she's driving the car."

"I have a dash cam, but..." I trailed off, remembering. "Last month, when Linda returned the car, she said it broke and told me to get it fixed."

"Broken?" Emily let out a dry laugh. "She's destroying evidence. No matter. The SD card probably still has the old footage. Pull it out, and I'll help recover the data."

"Got it," I replied.

"Keep this quiet for now. Gather all the evidence first, then confront her all at once," Emily said.

"Alright, I get it," I replied.

Once I hung up, I made a beeline for home.

Then, I dug out the dash cam that Linda had taken off back then.

Sure enough, the SD card was still inside.

I carefully took it out, planning to bring it to Emily the next day.

As soon as I set it down, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

It read: [Do you want to know Linda's secrets? It's not just the gas. She's hiding so much from all of you.]

My heart raced as I stared at the screen.

Who was this? How did they know?

I called the number back immediately, but no one answered.

Another text came in seconds later. [Starbucks tomorrow at 7 PM. I'll tell you the whole truth.]