Part 3
Saturday morning arrived with a gray, biting chill.
I woke up at 5:00 AM, long before the sun had even cleared the horizon. The anger from the night before hadn't faded; it had crystallized into something cold, sharp, and perfectly functional.
I sat at the kitchen island with a steaming mug of black coffee, my laptop screen illuminating the dark room.
My mother always said that Sabrina was the creative one, Carter was the brilliant one, and I was the "practical" one. She used to say it like it was a consolation prize. Claire is just good with numbers. She doesn't have the star quality.
Today, those numbers were going to become a weapon.
I opened the portal for my real estate LLC. Five years ago, when R&J Logistics was on the brink of losing their main distribution warehouse due to a sudden rent hike, I had stepped in. I bought the building through my company and leased it back to them at a thirty percent discount. I did it because they were family.
I opened the digital lease agreement.
Section 4, Clause B: The landlord reserves the right to terminate the lease with thirty days' notice if the tenant fails to provide updated liability insurance certifications within five business days of the annual renewal date.
The annual renewal date had been exactly six days ago. My father, always lazy with paperwork, had ignored three automated emails from my system. He figured his daughter would just handle it, like I always did.
I didn't handle it.
Instead, I clicked the button that generated a formal, legally binding Notice of Lease Termination due to non-compliance.
Next, I logged into the payroll and billing system I managed for them. Because my parents were constantly running on a tight margin, I had set up a personal line of credit attached to their operational account to prevent their drivers' fuel cards from bouncing during slow months. It was a safety net I had selflessly provided out of my own savings.
I unlinked my account.
No warnings. No phone calls. Just a clean, digital severance.
By 7:30 AM, Owen came downstairs, fully dressed and looking equally resolved. He had spent his morning on the phone with his regional operations manager.
"It's done," Owen said, sitting beside me. "I pulled the subcontracted routes. As of Monday morning, R&J Logistics no longer has access to our mid-Atlantic shipping lanes. We're re-routing all those packages through a local competitor."
"How much of their monthly revenue does that represent?" I asked.
"Sixty-four percent," Owen replied, his voice hard. "Without our contracts, their trucks are driving empty. They won't even make enough to cover the insurance on the fleet."
Right on cue, my phone began to vibrate on the counter.
The caller ID displayed my mother's face, smiling broadly in a photo taken at Thanksgiving two years ago.
I let it ring.
It cut out, went to voicemail, and then immediately started vibrating again. This time it was my father.
I picked up my coffee mug, took a slow sip, and watched the screen light up a third time.
May you like
"Aren't you going to answer?" Owen asked.
"Not yet," I murmured, watching the phone dance across the stone counter. "Let them realize the water is rising first. It makes the panic much more effective."
