Chương 9
“You weren’t borrowing these.”
He swallowed.
“I was going to replace them.”
“With what?”
He glanced toward the house.
I stepped closer.
“With what, Logan?”
His voice dropped.
“I needed money.”
“For what?”
He did not answer.
Then his phone buzzed in his pocket.
He reached for it automatically.
I saw the notification before he turned the screen away.
A resale marketplace message.
“Still available for 150?”
I looked at the box again.
My brother had not only stolen my tools.
He had started selling them.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
The only sound in the garage was the ticking metal of Logan’s Civic cooling in the heat.
“How many did you sell?”
Logan looked at the floor.
“How many?”
“Two.”
Mom’s head snapped toward him.
“Two what?”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“A couple tools.”
I stepped closer to the cardboard box.
“Which ones?”
“I don’t know.”
“You knew enough to list prices.”
“They were just sitting there.”
I stared at him.
That sentence almost did more damage than the theft itself.
“They were sitting there because they belonged in my tool chest.”
“I was going to put the money back.”
“Back where?”
He did not answer.
Mom folded her arms over her stomach.
“Logan, what did you sell?”
He glanced at her, then at me.
“A cordless grinder.”
My jaw tightened.
“And?”
“One of those inspection cameras.”
The garage seemed to tilt slightly.
“Which inspection camera?”
“The small one.”
I crossed the distance to the chest and yanked open the diagnostic drawer.
The compact thermal imager was gone.
Not the damaged bore scope from before.
A different tool.
One I had bought eight months earlier after saving a portion of three overtime checks.
“How much?”
He looked confused.
“How much did you sell it for?”
“Two hundred.”
I laughed once.
It came out ugly.
“That tool cost eleven hundred dollars.”
Mom whispered, “Oh my God.”
Logan’s face changed.
“I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“Nobody pays eleven hundred dollars for a little camera.”
“I did.”
“That’s insane.”
I turned away from him before I said something I would regret.
The concrete floor was stained with old oil marks from Dad’s truck and faint rings from motorcycle tires that would never sit there again.
A month earlier, I had imagined that empty garage space as proof my parents were finally facing their own expenses.
Now my brother had apparently decided to create income by liquidating mine.
“Who bought it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You messaged them.”
“Some guy.”
“Open the app.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets.
“No.”
I looked at him.
“Open it.”
“You don’t get to go through my phone.”
“You sold stolen property through it.”
Mom lifted both hands.
“Everybody needs to calm down.”
I turned toward her.
“No.”
Her mouth closed.
I had never said it to her that way before.
Not loudly.
Not cruelly.
Just no.
“I need the buyer information.”
Logan shook his head.
“Why?”
“So I can try to get my property back.”
“He paid for it.”
“He paid you for something you didn’t own.”
“Then buy it back.”
I stared at him.
“With what?”
“You have money.”
The words hung there.
Mom looked away first.
Something in my face must have changed because Logan took half a step backward.
“That’s what this is to you, isn’t it?”
He frowned.
“What?”
“You break something, I have money.”
I pointed toward the house.
“The mortgage is short, I have money.”
Then toward the car.
“You screw up your brakes, I have tools.”
Then the box.
“You need cash, I have things.”
“I said I was going to replace them.”
“With what money?”
His jaw tightened.
“Stop asking me that.”
“Then tell me why you needed money.”
“None of your business.”
“You made it my business when you sold my equipment.”
Mom said his name softly.
“Logan.”
He kicked at a socket lying near his shoe.
“I owed somebody.”
“For what?”
“Mom.”
“For what?”
He looked furious now.
Not embarrassed.
Cornered.
“I borrowed money.”
I waited.
“For what?”
“Computer stuff.”
I looked toward the house.
His streaming setup was probably worth several thousand dollars.
“What computer stuff?”
He muttered something.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“Upgrades.”
Mom’s face tightened.
“You told me those parts were sent by a sponsor.”
Logan looked at her.
“Well, some were.”
“Which ones?”
He said nothing.
Mom stepped closer.
“Logan.”
“I was trying to make the channel better.”
“You said you weren’t spending money.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You borrowed it.”
“That’s different.”
I almost laughed again.
It was the financial philosophy of our entire family compressed into four words.
Mom pressed her fingers against her forehead.
“How much do you owe?”
Logan looked at me.
I could see him deciding whether telling the truth would make things better or worse.
“How much?”
Mom repeated.
“Like twenty-eight hundred.”
She dropped her hand.
“What?”
“It wasn’t all at once.”
“That does not make it better.”
“I thought the channel would grow.”
“To who?”
“A guy I know.”
“What guy?”
“Someone online.”
Mom stared at him.
“You borrowed twenty-eight hundred dollars from somebody online?”
“He’s not just online.”
“What does that mean?”
“We talk.”
I watched Logan’s face.
There was more.
“Is he the one buying my tools?”
“No.”
“Then why are you selling them?”
“Because he wants his money.”
“Why now?”
Logan did not answer.
His phone buzzed again.
This time he ignored it.
“Why now?”
I asked.
“He said if I didn’t pay, he was going to post stuff.”
Mom’s voice went low.
“What stuff?”
“It’s nothing.”
“What stuff, Logan?”
He looked toward the driveway as if escape might appear there.
“Messages.”
“What messages?”
“Just things I said.”
Mom blinked.
“About what?”
He swore under his breath.
I crossed my arms.
“Does Dad know about this?”
“No.”
That answer came quickly enough to believe.
Mom looked at me.
For once, there was no accusation in her face.
Only exhaustion.
“What do we do?”
May you like
I almost answered automatically.
That was my oldest role.
