Chapter 3The Freeloader's Folly

I pulled my mom behind me, grabbed a clothesline pole from nearby, and pointed it at my uncle: "Try touching me? This is a society ruled by law. One swing of that shovel, and you're looking at least three years in prison!"

My gaze was too cold, and my uncle was intimidated, his hand holding the shovel freezing in mid-air.

He was a bully who only acted tough at home.

If he really had to hit someone, he'd have to weigh the consequences.

Seeing the hard way wouldn't work, my aunt rolled her eyes, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk.

"Fine! Not paying money is fine too!" My aunt smiled sinisterly. "Since you said your boss lent you this car, it must be worth something. Leave the car for us to drive for a year, and we'll consider this matter settled!"

So this was their goal all along.

From the moment they hitched a ride, they had their eyes on this car.

I laughed out of sheer anger: "You want to drive this car? I'm afraid you can't afford to."

The insurance and maintenance for this car alone cost tens of thousands a year, and even a minor scratch was astronomically expensive.

My uncle scoffed disdainfully: "Stop trying to scare us! It's just a broken Volkswagen! You think just because it has letters on it, it's something special? Only a poor loser like you would treat it like a treasure! My son has driven a BMW!"

A broken Volkswagen?

I almost couldn't resist telling him that this logo was called Maybach, and those two overlapping Ms stood for "Maybach Manufaktur."

But these legal ignoramuses clearly only recognized the VW logo and thought this was just another type of Volkswagen.

While we were in this standoff, that bratty kid, taking advantage of the adults' distraction, picked up a sharp stone and forcefully scratched the back door of the car.

Screech—

The piercing sound made my heart lurch.

I turned my head and saw several winding, deep white scratches on the glossy black paint.

"Stop it!" I roared, rushing over and shoving the brat away.

Looking at those deep scratches, the blood rushed to my head.

This was the boss's favorite car, with original factory paint. It's ruined now.

The brat fell on his butt from my shove and burst out crying with a wah.

My aunt lunged over, hugging her grandson tightly: "What are you doing! How dare you hit a child? He just drew a couple of lines! It won't break the car! I think you just care too much about that broken car!"

"Drew a couple of lines?" I took a deep breath, unclenched my fists. "Do you know how much it costs to touch up these scratches?"

"How much? Twenty bucks max!" My aunt rolled her eyes disdainfully. "That's the price at those roadside repair shops!"

Great-uncle also spoke up at this moment, clearly impatient: "Enough! Stop arguing endlessly over a broken car. Richard, since you don't want to pay, give them the car keys and let them drive it for a couple of days to cool off. We are family, don't make things so ugly."

This biased mediation was unmatched.

My dad looked at me hesitantly, clearly wavering.

In his eyes, no matter how expensive a car was, it was just a material possession. As long as it brought peace, it was fine.

Seeing this, my uncle put down the shovel and triumphantly stretched out his hand: "Give me the keys! Don't force me to pat you down for them!"

Looking at their ugly faces, I suddenly didn't want to argue anymore.

There are some people in this world you just can't reason with.

Only by making them hurt, really hurt, will they learn what rules are.

I patted the car keys in my pocket, then looked at the battered Maybach.

"Want the keys?" I took out the keys and dangled them in my hand. "Sure, as long as you dare to take them."

My uncle snatched the keys away, "What's not to dare? I think you just need to be taught a lesson!"

He tossed the keys to my cousin: "Son, go test drive the car! It's just the right time to take it out and show off for the New Year!"

My cousin excitedly took the keys and got into the car.

I didn't stop him; I just silently retreated back into the yard.

My dad panicked: "Leo, how could you really give it to them? What if the boss blames us..."

I held my dad's trembling shoulders and said in a low voice: "Dad, don't worry. They won't be able to drive this car away."

Sure enough, my cousin messed around in the car for a long time, but the engine didn't respond at all.

This Maybach was equipped with a remote control system. I had just blindly pressed the app on my phone in my pocket, cutting off the starter power and activating the all-around Sentry Mode.

"What's going on? Is it broken?" My cousin popped his head out to complain.

My uncle angrily kicked the tire: "This kid definitely did something! Leo Davis, get out here!"

I closed the car door my cousin hadn't had time to get out of, saying coldly: "I told you, you can't afford to drive this car."

That night, my uncle's family left cursing, their eyes harboring a chilling glint before they departed.

Late at night, I tossed and turned in bed.

A rustling sound came from outside the window, like someone had climbed into the yard.

I opened the security camera on my phone. On the screen, a few dark figures were sneaking around the Maybach.

It was my uncle's family.

They were holding something in their hands, pouring it onto the car.

I didn't go out to stop them.

Because I knew this would be the key evidence to put them away.