The room had gone dark, lit only by the soft glow of my laptop screen.

My phone lit up on the desk blotter with a missed call alert, followed two seconds later by a voicemail notification.

I tapped the screen and held the phone close to my ear.

Arthur’s voice came through the speaker, stripped of any remaining pretense or family warmth.

“Iris Elizabeth Collins,” he said, pronouncing every word with heavy, deliberate precision.

“If you do not return this car immediately, I will report it stolen.”

I played the recording three times, watching the bright blue audio wave pulse across the dark screen.