Chapter 6 - The Repossession of ParadiseBy noon, Marcus, a local repossession agent named “Big Jim” (a six-foot-four ex-Marine with forearms the size of Thanksgiving turkeys), and I pulled up outside the modest suburban split-level house in Antioch where my cousin Mason lived with his girlfriend, Chloe.
Parked right in the driveway was the gleaming, white Lexus RX 350—complete with temporary dealer tags and a custom vanity plate that read “MOMSDAY”.
Big Jim parked his heavy-duty tow truck right behind the Lexus, effectively blocking it in. The screech of hydraulic fluid and the metallic clank of the rear lift arms dropping into place shattered the sleepy neighborhood silence.
Within ten seconds, the front door of the house flew open. Mason stepped out wearing basketball shorts, no shirt, and flip-flops, holding a half-eaten bowl of cereal.
“Hey! Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Mason yelled, spilling milk down his bare chest as he jogged down the front steps. “That’s my car! You can’t touch that car!”
Big Jim stepped out of the tow truck cab, cracking his knuckles. He looked down at Mason with a terrifyingly polite grin.
“Well, son, according to the Davidson County Circuit Court lien filing issued forty-five minutes ago under case number two-six-zero-four-nine, this vehicle was purchased using funds illegally diverted from a corporate asset freeze. Which means right now, this Lexus belongs to First Nashville Bank and Trust. Step away from the bumper, or I’ll hook you up with it.”
“You can’t do this! Aunt Teresa bought me this car for my birthday!” Mason stammered, his face turning bright red as he looked wildly around the street for backup from the neighbors.
I stepped out of Marcus’s sedan, walking slowly up the driveway with my hands tucked casually into my jacket pockets.
“Teresa didn't buy you anything, Mason,” I said, my voice ice-cold. “She stole my money to buy you this car. And just like the house, just like the bank accounts, every single asset built on my back is coming back home.”
“Connor?!” Mason snarled, his eyes bulging as he recognized me. He lunged forward, pointing a shaking finger at my face. “You put your own mother in jail over some petty drama?! You’re tearing this family apart! You’re a pathetic, whipped-ass coward!”
Before Mason could take another step, Big Jim stepped directly into his path, towering over him by nearly a foot.
“Watch your mouth, kid, before I repossess your teeth along with the bumper,” Big Jim rumbled, his voice dropping an octave.
Mason stopped dead in his tracks, swallowing hard as he looked up at the ex-Marine’s massive shoulders. He knew when he was outmatched. With a curse word that defied polite company, Mason turned on his heel, slammed his cereal bowl against the front porch concrete, and stormed back inside, slamming the front door so hard the glass pane rattled in its frame.
Big Jim hoisted the Lexus into the air with smooth hydraulic efficiency. Within three minutes, the white luxury SUV was locked down and ready for transport.
As we drove away, leaving Mason stranded in his driveway with no car, no money, and no mother to bail him out, my phone buzzed in the cup holder.
It was an unknown number from inside the Davidson County Detention Facility.
I didn't hesitate. I tapped the screen and hit speakerphone so Marcus could hear.
“Connor?” Teresa’s voice crackled through the speaker, thin, desperate, and trembling with rage. “Connor, listen to me right now. You drop these charges, you sign the house over to me, and you tell the judge it was all a misunderstanding... or I swear to God, I will make sure your career in this city is finished. I know every contractor, every city inspector, and every developer from here to Memphis. You’ll never pour another yard of concrete as long as you live!”
I pulled the phone close to my mouth, savoring every single syllable.
May you like
“Mom,” I said quietly, a grim smile touching my lips. “You spent thirty years building an empire on lies, manipulation, and stealing from your own family. But your foundation was rotten from day one. Enjoy your stay in county. Concrete is hard—but karma is harder.”
I hung up, blocked the inmate calling number, and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.
