He rattled on and on, and I nearly laughed out loud.
So this was his real game all along.
He was trying to shake me down.
"My grandfather didn't hit anyone. I'm not paying a cent."
"You know perfectly well what really happened to your father. Don't try to scam me!"
I shot them a cold glance and let out a scoff.
"You say my grandfather hit someone? Then show me proof. Nobody's going to take your word for it."
The moment the words left my mouth, Michael Young's face twisted with rage.
A vein bulged at his temple. He drew his leg back and kicked me hard in the stomach.
"You think I'd come after you without proof?!"
"Plate number 0817. You gonna tell me that's not your grandfather's car?"
The second I heard those numbers, cold sweat slid down my spine.
0817. Grandpa's birthday.
And yes, the plate number on the little car I'd bought him. There was no denying that.
But how? How was that possible?
I knew, deep in my bones, that my grandfather would never have hit someone with a car. Yet Michael had said it with such conviction that even I felt a flicker of doubt creep in.
The color must have drained from my face, because Officer Elliot Chavez's expression turned even more severe. His voice came down like a gavel.
"We reviewed the surveillance footage and identified the plate number of the vehicle involved."
"That plate is registered to your grandfather's car. It's been confirmed. What else could you possibly have to say?"
Michael's kick had landed with every ounce of force he had. My lower abdomen throbbed in waves of pain, and I couldn't stop a sharp hiss from escaping through my teeth.
Hearing those words on top of it sent an icy chill flooding through my entire body.
That plate number. I'd picked it up just days ago. I'd chosen it on sight because it matched Grandpa's birthday.
So how could it have ended up on a different car?
The crowd was swelling by the minute, and the police had no intention of letting the situation spiral into a public incident. They tore down every banner Michael had hung, dispersed the onlookers, and brought us all back to the station.
The whole way there, Michael cursed me out at the top of his lungs while Officer Chavez kept pressing me to come clean about where my grandfather was.
I only had one answer, and I repeated it over and over.
"I don't know. My grandfather didn't hit anyone."
When I still refused to talk, Officer Chavez let out a sigh.
"The victim's family has already filed a lawsuit. If you won't cooperate, this is going to court."
"And when it does, the damages will be a lot steeper. Think it over."
I almost smiled.
Court sounded perfect.
Exactly what I wanted.
Soon enough, the court summons arrived. The hearing was set for three days out.
That gave me time to find a lawyer and figure out a proper defense.
But the moment I stepped out of the station, a rotten egg smashed into my forehead. The stench hit me like a wall.
A mob had gathered at the entrance, so thick that even the officers on duty couldn't hold them back.
They were seething, fingers jabbing in my direction, voices raw with fury.
"That old monster raised a little monster! Old Mr. Young is the kindest soul in our whole town. He saved my life when he was young! And look what your family did to him!"
"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. The old man was rotten, so of course his kid's no better!"
"Hits a man and doesn't even have the guts to own up to it. Coward! Disgusting!"
Rotten egg dripped down my hair, wet strands plastered to my face. The stench churned my stomach so violently I clapped a hand over my mouth, fighting not to vomit.
One voice piled on top of another, all of them determined to pin this crime on me.
Then someone snatched a rock off the ground and hurled it straight at my head.
A bolt of pain split across my forehead, and the world before my eyes flooded red.
