To be honest, I never imagined a beat-up old automobile would become the center of family drama, but here we are.
It all began when my older sister, Jessica, offered to “gift” me her old automobile. Well, “gift” may be stretching it a little considering she sold it to me for a symbolic sum.
The car was in horrible condition. I mean, the tires were flat, there was rust beneath the hood, and the paint was almost flaking. It had been languishing in our parents’ garage for years, collecting layers of dust.
But, as a 22-year-old automobile aficionado, I saw opportunity where others saw a junkyard candidate.
“There’s something there, Gabi,” I informed my girlfriend as we sat at a fast-food restaurant. “I know it doesn’t look like a wonderful opportunity, but it is. “I can do a lot with the car.”
“Fine, Dustin,” she giggled as she ate her fries. “You do whatever you have to. But don’t get your hopes up until Jessica actually hands it to you.”
Jessica made a big show of handing me the keys. She made it appear that she was doing me a tremendous favor.
“Don’t take this lightly, Dustin,” she advised. “I loved this car.”
Her comments sounded like notifications. To be fair, she probably assumed I’d scrap it for parts and let it decay. But I had different plans.
I invested all of my savings into that car, updating whatever I could. Weekends were spent crouched over the automobile, listening to Gabi tell stories about her university classmates and instructors.
“I do think that Ben is going to get caught for stealing,” she told me. “Like, he practically copied the entire project off the internet. I am confident they will fail him for it.”
I chuckled while working.
I restored the interior, repainted the outside, installed new tires and wheels, and even added a sound system. Overall, I believe I spent roughly $5,000 and countless hours bringing the automobile back to life.
Then, one morning, as I was preparing to leave for university, Jessica barged into the house, looking agitated. Gabi was about to exit the bathroom when she noticed Jessica running to our bedroom, clutching her towel firmly.
“Dustin, I need to take the car back,” she told me. “Where are the keys?” “I need it right now.”
I was stunned.
“What?” I exclaimed.
“Now!” she said, glancing about the living room as if attempting to summon the keys.
Jessica, what are you talking about? “You sold me that car,” I responded, trying to remain calm. “It is not yours anymore. So, you don’t get to make any choices.”
“Well, I never officially transferred the documents,” she admitted, waving her hands dismissively. “And, anyhow, Tom’s automobile broke down, so we need another vehicle. So I’m taking it back.
I could not believe my ears. Her husband, Tom, was infamous for reckless driving and automobile destruction. It was his ‘thing.’ In the six years Tom and Jessica had been married, he had gone through four cars.
The thought of him driving my restored car was infuriating. What captivated me was Jessica’s chutzpah. The car was mine. Jessica had no legal basis for it. I had purchased and paid for it. Even if we hadn’t finalized the papers, it needed to stand.
Right?
Our parents, who had accompanied her, naturally supported her.
“She has kids, Dustin,” Mom remarked, as if that would explain everything. It seemed like a betrayal, but I held my tongue and thought quickly.
I wasn’t sure what else to do. Or how to feel. My parents had seen how much work I had put into the car, yet they still wanted me to hand it off to Jessica.
“Alright, Jessica,” I said, forcing a smile. “You can take the car. I really hope it serves you well.”
She seemed astonished by my cooperation but did not question it.
Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to phone the cops and report that my car had been taken, but I had to play it safe.
Gabi remarked, “Babe,” as we sat on the couch that evening and talked about everything after Jessica and my parents had departed. “You’re forgetting something.”
“What?” I asked, feeling slightly defeated. I had told Gabi that I was convinced Jessica was up to something. Tom would never drive such an old car, even if I had done it up.
“You placed a GPS and camera in the car. If you think that your sister is lying to you, access it. See where it is.”
What I found was surprising.
Jessica was seen driving erratically, rushing through homes, and having dubious chats with Tom about flipping the automobile for profit.
“Look, I know you detest it, but Dustin accomplished a lot. It’ll be worth a lot. We can spend the money on something else. The kids have asked for a jungle gym in the backyard. “This could pay for that,” she explained.
The lawyer assisted me in drafting a formal letter to Jessica that detailed the expenses and potential legal ramifications of her behavior. I also gave information on the documented evidence.
“We can sort this out, Dustin,” the lawyer remarked. “Your sister is just trying to take you along for a ride.”
A few days later, she burst into my house, holding the letter and looking angry and panicked.
“What the hell is this, Dustin?” she insisted.
“It’s simple, Jess,” I explained quietly. “Either you transfer the car’s title to me or I take it to court. And if it comes to that, I’ll make sure the family is aware of what you’ve been doing. “A jungle gym, huh?”
She was outraged, but she saw I had her cornered. After a tense silence, she agreed to sign the required forms. To ensure that there were no more surprises, I had her sign an agreement declaring that the automobile and all of its enhancements were now mine, and she could make no more claims.
“I can’t believe you went to a lawyer, Dustin,” Jessica stated as she poured herself a drink of water.
“Yeah,” I replied, sitting back on the couch. “You forced my hand, Jess.”
Now that the car is officially mine, I may continue to enjoy the benefits of my labor.
It may appear to be a hunk of garbage, but it is much more than that. It serves as a reminder to set boundaries.
“Are you happy now?” Gabi questioned me as she prepared tacos for dinner.
“Yes,” I answered. “Jess needed to learn that she can’t walk all over me just because she’s older.”
