The Mercedes went next.
I had paid the final balance from my personal account years earlier, during one of David’s “temporary cash flow problems.” He had promised to repay me.
He never did.
So I made one phone call.
By noon, the dealership had arranged pickup.
By two, the car was gone.
By four, David called me seventeen times.
I let every call ring.
At 5:12 p.m., his message arrived.
Where is my car?
I typed back:
Which car, David?
There was a long pause.
Then:
Don’t play games with me.
I smiled for the first time in days.
I’m not playing anymore.