Chapter 1 - The Delivery TruckDarnell checked his clipboard with the calm, practiced rhythm of a man who had seen every flavor of human domestic drama. “Sectional sofa. Modern royal tufted statement platform king bed. Seventy-five-inch OLED. Refrigerator.”
“All of it,” I said.
“Right through those doors?” He pointed his pencil toward the elevator bank of the apartment complex.
“Floor three. Apartment 304,” I replied, smoothing down the front of my blue Walmart polo shirt. “There’s a sign above the door made of gold foil balloons. You can’t miss it.”
Darnell looked up from his paper, taking in my work outfit, my flat sneakers, and the quiet, icy focus in my eyes. A slow, knowing grin spread across his face. “Housewarming?”
“Housewarming,” I confirmed.
He tucked the clipboard under his arm and signaled to his two crew members, who were already unhooking the heavy-duty dollies from the back of the freight truck. “Ma’am, I’ve been hauling freight for fourteen years. I’ve picked up from bitter divorces, corporate evictions, and one guy who tried to return a hot tub because he said it was haunted. But I’ve never been this early for Christmas.”
We rode the freight elevator up in silence, the hydraulic hum echoing against the steel walls. When the doors slid open on the third floor, the hallway smelled like expensive jasmine candles and prosecco. Bass thumped through the carpeted corridor, vibrating from the far end of the hall where my twenty-six-year-old sister, Briana, was celebrating her “elevated adult era.”
The door to Apartment 304 was propped open. A balloon arch in shades of beige, cream, and champagne flanked the entrance.
Inside, about forty people were crammed into a living room that looked like a Pinterest board brought to life by someone who had never seen a bank statement. My sister stood near the kitchen island wearing a white linen jumpsuit, holding a champagne flute in one hand while gesturing dramatically toward the gleaming stainless-steel refrigerator behind her.
“It makes two kinds of ice,” Briana was telling a cluster of women in linen dresses. “Spherical ice for cocktails, and the little crushed ones for iced coffee.”
A guest gasped. “Spherical?”
“Two kinds,” Briana confirmed proudly.
I stepped through the doorway, Darnell and his crew trailing right behind me like an eviction squad with white furniture straps.
Briana spotted me first. Her face lit up with the effortless, bright charm she usually reserved for people she wanted something from. She hurried across the room, her heels clicking against the faux-oak flooring, and threw her arms around me.
“Sylvia! I knew you’d come around!” She pulled back, her eyes scanning my blue polo. “You didn’t change out of your work clothes? Whatever. It’s totally fine. Come look at the couch!”
Then her eyes drifted past my shoulder.
She froze. Her gaze landed on Darnell, who was quietly holding his clipboard, and then on the two large men carrying heavy-duty dollies into her foyer.
The music kept playing—a breezy, finger-snapping lounge track—but the immediate vicinity around the front door dropped into a sudden, awkward silence.
“Who are they?” Briana asked, her smile faltering.
Darnell offered a polite, professional nod. “Pickup.”
Briana blinked, her eyebrows knitting together. “Pickup for what?”
I reached out to a passing server’s tray, picked up a tiny cocktail meatball on a toothpick, and ate it slowly.
“For all of this,” I said.
Briana stared at me. “What?”
“The Amazon returns,” I said plainly. “Fourteen thousand, three hundred and twelve dollars and eighty-four cents’ worth of merchandise. They’re taking it back.”
The room seemed to tilt on its axis. The laughter near the balcony faltered. My sister’s mouth opened, closed, and then opened again, her expression shifting from confusion to absolute, unadulterated terror.
“You’re joking,” she whispered.
May you like
“I manage electronics sales at Walmart, Briana,” I replied, stepping past her toward the kitchen island. “I don’t have a sense of humor about fourteen grand.”
Darnell clicked his pen. “Let’s start with the espresso machine.”
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