Chapter 3

The next morning, the cold knot in my stomach turned into a block of ice.

I arrived at the commissary where I parked my food truck, ready for an early start for the festival.

Even from a distance, I knew something was terribly wrong.

The "Sarah's Sizzle Stop" logo, usually bright and cheerful, was obscured.

As I got closer, the full extent of the damage hit me like a punch to the gut.

All four tires were slashed, flat and useless.

The windows of the serving hatch were smashed, glass glittering malevolently on the asphalt.

And spray-painted across the side, in crude, angry letters, were obscenities.

"BITCH SISTER."

"GOLD DIGGER."

"TRUCK SLUT."

My breath hitched, my hands clenched into fists.

This wasn't just vandalism, this was personal, vicious.

This was Kevin. Egged on by Brittany, no doubt.

The artisanal chilies were the least of my worries now. My entire livelihood, the thing I' d poured my soul into, was crippled, defaced.

Tears pricked my eyes, hot and angry, but I wouldn't let them fall.

Not yet.

I pulled out my phone, my fingers shaking as I took pictures of the damage.

Evidence.

The festival was today, I was supposed to be there in a few hours, serving hundreds of people.

Now, I was looking at thousands of dollars in repairs, days, maybe weeks of lost income.

The financial hit would be massive, not just for me, but for Mom, for Kevin, though he clearly hadn't thought that far ahead.

Or maybe he had, and this was his way of trying to force my hand, to make me so desperate I'd give in to their demands.

The sheer stupidity of it was staggering.

He' d cut off his nose to spite his face, and mine too.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to push down the rage and the despair.

I needed to think, to figure out my next move.

Calling the police was a given.

But first, I needed to just absorb the treachery.

My own brother.