He closed the door.
The truck started.
Through the windshield, he watched Celeste remain beside her black sedan.
He expected relief when he drove away.
Instead something heavier settled in his chest.
He had wanted a villain.
A person he could hate cleanly.
The woman standing in the snow looked more like someone who had just learned she might be the villain in stories she had never read.
That was less satisfying.
At 5:28, Owen pulled into Harper Auto & Machine.
The garage sat beneath strings of cheap white Christmas lights Ellie had insisted on hanging around the office window.
One bulb blinked too fast.
Another section remained dead.
The shop door rolled halfway open and stopped because the left track had been complaining for months.
Owen parked outside.
Before he reached the office, Ellie burst through the side door wearing a navy sweatshirt three sizes too large and red socks with airplanes printed across them.
“You’re late.”
“I know.”
“You said five.”
“I stopped.”
“For what?”
“Broken car.”
Ellie put both hands on her hips.
“Again?”
“Again.”
“Did you charge them?”
Owen hesitated.
Ellie groaned.
“Dad.”
“Go inside.”
“You’re why we’re poor.”
“I’m glad school teaches nuance.”
She grinned.
Then hugged him.
That nearly undid him.
Owen held her a second longer than usual.
Ellie pulled back.
“You smell like snow and engine.”
“That’s my cologne.”
“Bad brand.”
Inside, a small artificial tree stood on a wooden crate beside the office.
Ornaments made from washers, nuts, bottle caps, and painted spark plugs hung from its plastic branches.
Hannah had started that tradition.
Every year she made one new mechanical ornament with Ellie.
Owen continued it.
Poorly.
This year’s attempt was a tiny airplane made from copper wire and aluminum scrap.
Ellie had declared it “technically recognizable.”
High praise.
“Can I open one present tonight?”
“No.”
“One?”
“No.”
“Half?”
“How do you open half a present?”
“Carefully.”
Owen smiled.
He began preparing dinner.
A knock came at 6:11.
Ellie looked toward the door.
“Are we expecting someone?”
“No.”
Owen’s stomach tightened.
Too early for collections.
He opened the side door.
Celeste Vale stood outside.
She had changed.
Not clothes.
Expression.
Her sunglasses were gone.
Snow clung to the shoulders of her burgundy coat.
Behind her sat the black sedan.
“You followed me?”
“No.”
“My assistant found the address.”
“That is somehow worse.”
“I know.”
Owen folded his arms.
“What do you want?”
“To return something.”
She held out the cream foreclosure envelope.
Owen looked toward his toolbox.
He had left it in the truck.
“You took that?”
“It fell out when you loaded your tools.”
He took it.
“Thank you.”
Celeste stayed.
Owen stared.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
“I found four irregularities in your file.”
He looked at her.
“That fast?”
“I had three lawyers ruin their Christmas Eve.”
“Festive.”
“One irregularity is normal processing incompetence.”