Chapter 2 - The Freedom of a Concrete Floor
The drive to Ellison University took four hours in my beat-up, ten-year-old sedan—the one vehicle my father hadn't co-signed for because he deemed it "trash." I had bought it myself for eight hundred dollars from a scrap dealer and fixed the alternator with the help of YouTube videos.
Every twenty minutes, my phone blew up. Dad: Call me right now. This is your final warning. Mom: Ava, your father is having chest pains. How can you be so cruel? Brandon: I'll give your camera back. I'll get it from the pawn shop. Just stop the investigation.
I didn't block them. I wanted the evidence. Every text they sent blaming me, every admission of guilt disguised as a plea, was saved directly into a secure cloud drive I had set up.
When I arrived at Ellison, the campus was beautiful. Gothic brick buildings, sprawling green lawns, and students walking around without a care in the world. But I didn't go to a dormitory. I couldn't afford one. My plan was much grittier.
I drove straight to a self-storage facility three miles off-campus. I had rented a 10x10 unit using the tips from my diner jobs. It had no windows, a cold concrete floor, and a rolling metal door. It wasn't luxury, but it was mine. Nobody could tell me I didn't deserve to be there.
I laid out a thick sleeping pad, unpacked my clothes onto a cheap plastic rack, and set up a small battery-powered lamp. When I sat down on the edge of my makeshift bed, the silence hit me. For the first time in years, my heart wasn't racing. No one was screaming. No one was sighing in disappointment because I got a 98 instead of a 100, or because I wasn't as popular as Brandon.
My phone rang. It wasn't my family. It was an unknown number from the city area code.
"Hello?" I answered.
"Is this Ava Vance?" a professional, female voice asked.
"Yes, speaking."
"My name is Detective Miller from the Financial Crimes Unit. We received an extensive digital packet from you this morning regarding identity theft, grand larceny, and trust fund embezzlement. I need you to come down to the station to sign an official affidavit so we can execute a search warrant."
My hands shook, but this time it was from adrenaline. "I can be there in twenty minutes."
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"Good. And Miss Vance? The documentation you provided was exceptionally thorough. Most victims don't have this level of proof. You've made our job very easy."
"I had to," I whispered. "If I didn't, no one would have believed me."
