He looked unsure.
He ended the call.
Silence stretched across the room like a held breath.
“Well?” my uncle finally asked.
Patrick forced a laugh. “Just a misunderstanding.”
My father leaned back in his chair, folding his hands neatly.
“No,” he said evenly. “It’s not.”
Patrick swallowed. “Excuse me?”
My father’s voice remained calm, almost gentle—but every word landed with precision.
“The car was not a gift to you,” he said. “It was registered in Jenna’s name. Fully. Legally.”
Patrick’s jaw tightened.
“I assumed,” my father continued, “that if there was ever a situation where Jenna no longer had possession of her own property… it would be discussed. Respectfully.”
No one moved.
No one spoke.
“So,” my father added, “I made a call.”
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