Chapter 2She Laughed While My Porsche Burned — Turns Out It Was Hers

Right then, a woman shoves through the crowd, panicked.

She scoops up the boy — who's still bawling — and hugs him tight.

"What happened? I'm his mom. What happened?"

One of the neighbors fills her in. Firecrackers. Porsche. Burned to a crisp.

Her face goes from worried, to pale, to that sick purple color people turn when they realize their kid just blew up their life savings.

She sets him down. And starts wailing on him.

"What is WRONG with you?! I told you no fireworks! I told you a hundred times!"

Smack. Smack. Open palm, across the back.

The kid screams.

Nyla jumps in and grabs her arm.

"Marcy, Marcy, stop! It's okay — the car belongs to my sister-in-law. Nina. And she already said she's not gonna press this. Right? Right, Nina?"

I stare at her. "Excuse me? When did I say that?"

Nyla rolls her eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't fall out. "Oh come on, Nina. She already hit him. It's New Year's Eve. You want the kid to get on his knees and beg you too?"

Marcy jerks the boy forward and shoves down on his shoulder.

"Kneel! Kneel right now! Say sorry to your auntie!"

The kid's face is a wet mess of snot and tears. "I'm — I'm sorry, Auntie… I shouldn't have… put the firecracker in your car…"

I jump back like the floor's on fire.

"Whoa, whoa. Wrong lady. That's not my car, kid. That's her car." I point at Nyla. "Go kneel to her."

"Nina, are you serious right now?" Nyla snaps. "A little boy is on his knees in front of you and you're still going?"

I let out a laugh. "Oh, so kneeling is worth four hundred grand now? Damn. Where do I sign up? I'll get on my knees too."

Nyla's face hardens. "And another thing — you knew people set off fireworks on New Year's Eve. Why would you park on the street? You should've parked somewhere safe."

"The kid's fine, thank God. But if he'd gotten hurt, guess what? You'd be paying *us*."

The crowd starts nodding along.

"Yeah, she parked it there like she was asking for it."

"Bet she left it out on purpose. Insurance money."

"Rich people, man. Always calculating."

I actually laugh out loud. What planet am I on? The victim owes the arsonist money now?

"It was on the curb — in a *legal parking spot*," I say. Then I try one more time. "Nyla. Hypothetically. If it was your brand-new car that just got torched, would you tell them to walk away with nothing?"

Nyla doesn't even blink. "Absolutely. Marcy and her husband work so hard. I'd never make them pay."

God. I really wish she knew.

My phone rings. It's Ryan.

Finally. She won't believe me — but she'll believe her own brother-in-law.

I hit speaker.