I came home from a business trip and found my SUV gone. My stepdaughter sat at the kitchen island and casually said, “Dad needed it more than you did.”

He convinced Madison to do it.

The camera inside my home office captured everything.

At 11:43 p.m., two nights before my trip, Madison entered using the emergency key Laura kept.

She opened my desk.

Removed the title.

Then sat down and practiced my signature.

Nine times.

The tenth looked convincing enough.

I watched the footage twice.

The betrayal hurt more than losing the vehicle.

I had paid Madison’s community-college tuition after Derek refused.

I helped her move into her first apartment.

When she wrecked her old Honda, I paid the deductible.

Once, during an argument, she screamed, “You’re not my father.”

Apparently, I became family only when a bill arrived.

That afternoon, Derek called.

His voice dripped with satisfaction.

“Ethan. Heard you’re upset about the truck.”

“It’s an SUV.”

He laughed.

“Whatever. Madison gave it to me.”

“You mean she stole it.”

“Careful.”

“Why?”