“You put a tracker on my car,” I said.

“I put a location transmitter on family property,” he said, slipping my credit card into his suit pocket.

“The sedan is registered to the Vance Charitable Trust, Vivian.

Everything you drive, eat, or wear comes from the endowment.”

“I earned my contract salary,” I said.

Julian slammed the trunk shut, the rusted metal rattling in the quiet parking lot.

“Your salary ended when I locked the accounting software yesterday morning.”

“I need that card for my prenatal vitamins,” I said.