She Borrowed My Maybach, Claimed It Was Stolen

My cousin, Jessica, asked to borrow my 0-02 million Porsche, promising she just needed it for a business meeting to look impressive and would return it right away.
A few days later, she ran over in a panic, guilt written all over her face, and told me the car had been stolen.
I just smiled, affecting an air of indifference. "It's fine. The car has a tracker."
Jessicas composure shattered. "Impossible! You told me it didn't have a tracker! You lied to me!"

1
I was in the middle of detailing my red Porsche when my phone buzzed with a video call from my cousin, Jessica.
The moment I answered, her face, a carefully constructed mask of cleverness and calculation, filled the screen.
"Hey, Alex!" she chirped sweetly. "Whatcha doing? Polishing your car? I have something really important I need to ask you."
"Something important?" I put down my polishing cloth and settled into a nearby chair. "Go on, what is it?"
Jessicas voice was syrupy. "Best cousin ever! Could I please, please borrow your Porsche for a few days? I have a super-duper important business dinner tomorrow, and I really need your car to make a good impression!"
This wasn't just any Porsche. It was a rare collector's item I'd acquired from a friend overseas, worth a fortune. It wasn't registered or plated; it was never meant for driving. It was a piece of art.
I frowned, but she was already rambling on. "You know how it is, cuz! I'm still getting my business off the ground. If I pull up in a car like that, the clients will trust me more, and they'll sign the deal!"
I sighed. "Alright, you can borrow it. But you have to be incredibly careful. Not a single scratch. And I'm telling you right now, if anything"
"I swear on my life, Alex! I'll bring it back in perfect condition!" she cut in, her promise overriding my warning.
I paused, a familiar unease settling in. She had a history of "borrowing" things and conveniently forgetting to return them.
"Fine. One day. It needs to be back here by tomorrow evening."
"You're the best! You're like my real brother!" Jessica looked like she was about to jump through the screen and hug me. "Don't worry, Alex! I'll return it safe and sound!" she added right before hanging up.
I put down my phone and stared at the gleaming red car. Jessicas over-the-top performance left me feeling uneasy. Something felt off.
Our families lived close, in the same gated community, so it wasn't long before she was at my door, personally driving the Porsche away.
I watched from my balcony as the car disappeared down the street, my mind replaying my recent interactions with her. Just last month, shed borrowed $20,000 from my mom for her "business," complete with a signed IOU promising to pay it back in a month. It was six weeks later, and she hadn't mentioned it once.
I stroked my chin, my eyes fixed on the villa her family owned down the road. What was she up to now?

2
The next day, just as dusk was settling, my doorbell rang. The security camera showed it was Jessica. I buzzed her in.
She walked in carrying a thermal container, dressed in a designer dress that probably cost a few thousand dollars. She was dripping with goldearrings, necklace, bracelet, and a massive diamond ring on each hand. On her wrist was a delicate, expensive-looking watch.
But the Porsche was nowhere in sight.
"Alex! Mom made your favorite braised meatballs. You haven't eaten yet, right? I brought them over for you."
Her voice sounded strained. She thrust the container into my hands like she was completing a mission. I watched her carefully, noticing how her eyes darted around, refusing to meet mine. She was already fiddling with her phone, not saying a word about the car, ready to bolt.
So I brought it up myself. "Jessica, where's my car? You said you'd have it back today."
She flinched, then turned back awkwardly. "Alex... the car... it was stolen."
"Stolen?" My voice shot up an octave. Her words were a spark on the dry tinder of my patience.
"It wasn't my fault," she explained hastily. "I was out with clients last night, we all drank too much. The security cameras were tampered with. I even called the police this morning, but they said they couldn't find any signs of a break-in..."
She recounted the story with a disturbingly calm demeanor, as if losing a multi-million-dollar collector's car was like misplacing a cheap t-shirt. Her casual attitude infuriated me.
I stared at her, taking in every flicker of her expression. "Jessica, are you sure it was stolen? Absolutely positive?"
"I'm positive! Alex, I'm telling the truth! This neighborhood is out in the middle of nowhere, not like the city with cameras everywhere. How am I supposed to find the thief? Even the police are stumped..."
"I see," I said coldly, my face hardening. "Fine. You stay in touch with the police and try to get it back. I'll see what I can do on my end."
Jessica let out a breath of relief. She muttered a quick "sorry" and practically sprinted out the door.
I closed the door and looked at the container in my hand. It was true that our area didn't have many public cameras, but the security in our gated community was top-notch. Jessica hadn't mentioned contacting property management, and there wasn't a peep in the residents' group chat. Normally, she'd raise hell in the chat if she so much as lost a dog.
Something was definitely wrong.
We were family, and her late father had helped my mom out years ago. Even though wed long since repaid that debt, I couldn't just accuse her without proof.
I sat down in the living room just as my mom came out of the kitchen, calling me for dinner.
"Did you lend the Porsche to your cousin?" she asked as we ate.
When I nodded, she sighed. "She was really showing off last night. Ever since her father passed, that girl has become so extravagant."
"I even saw some slick-looking guy with a receding hairline ask her how much the Porsche was worth."
"Jessica told him 0-02 million. I was worried she'd attract the wrong kind of attention, so I jumped in and said it was a high-quality replica, only worth about fifteen grand."
"It's always better to be modest," Mom continued. "With her spending habits, she's headed for trouble. I think you should get that car back as soon as possible, before it really does get stolen."
I paused, my chopsticks hovering over my bowl. Mom didn't know the car was already "gone." Thinking about Jessicas behavior, an idea began to form.
"Mom," I said with a casual smile, "don't worry about it. It was a replica. I was just using it to show off. It's not worth much."
My mom blinked, then shot me a look. "Just eat your dinner!"
After we finished, I offered to clean the kitchen so Mom could have time for her evening activities. She loved her dance class, and Jessica's mom, my Aunt Helen, always tagged along, mostly to stay close and see what she could get from our family.
I had a feeling that when they met up, my mom would probably mention that the Porsche was just a replica.

3
Late that night, I went to the secure room in my study. After entering a password and scanning my fingerprint, I opened the safe.
Inside was a leather folio containing the Porsche's international certificate of authenticity.
The valuation was clearly printed: 12,000,000.00.
The currency unit that followed was USD.
Stamped over the numbers was the personal seal of the president of the International Association of Luxury Cars.
I stared at the document, then opened my laptop and searched for Patek Philippe watch prices. I quickly found the model Jessica was wearing on their official site. It was a limited edition. Price tag: $99,000.
I stroked my chin, replaying the image of Jessica walking in tonightthe designer dress, the flashy gold jewelry, and her breezy declaration that the car had been stolen.
Suddenly, a message from her popped up on my phone, testing the waters:
Cuz, my mom said your Porsche is a replica? Is that true?
I glanced at the screen and typed back coolly: Of course. You think I'd forgive you that easily otherwise?
I closed her chat and found my friend Leo's number.
Leo, you awake? Urgent.
A moment later, a video call came through. "Well, well, if it isn't the busy man himself. What's the emergency?"
I shook my head and quickly explained the situation with Jessica, the "stolen" car, and how I'd lied to everyone that my 0-02 million collector's item was a cheap replica.
Leo, sharp as ever, immediately understood. "So you're trying to pass off a real car as fake to see how your cousin reacts, right?"
"Haha, and I forgot to tell you, a car of that caliber always has satellite tracking. I'll share the app with you. Just download it and you'll see."
I nodded. Leo was a lifesaver. He was a well-known broker in the world of luxury car collecting. Owners of these cars were often reluctant to sell to outsiders, worried they wouldn't be properly cared for. That's where people like Leo came in.
Once I got the tracking app and linked my credentials, it only took a moment to pinpoint the Porsche's exact location.
"I can't believe the car is parked at..."
Seeing the location on the map, my heart sank. After a long moment, I let out a dark laugh.
Since Jessica claimed the car was stolen, I might as well play along and make her return it herself.
"That's a pretty twisted plan, my friend," Leo said, laughing. "Alright, let me know if you need anything else. Call me anytime."
After hanging up, I opened a drawer and took out a faded photo album. In the section for my aunt's family, I found a picture of a younger Jessica. She was smiling, holding my hand, her eyes full of innocence. She never used to lie.
Now, the constant stream of deceit from her was heartbreaking.
I closed the album, took out that one photo, and put the album away.
I let out a deep sigh. I had been ready to let it go, but seeing the car's current location had finally pushed me over the edge.
I walked to the window and looked toward her house.
"Jessica," I murmured, "whether you pull back from the brink or end up in a cell... that's your choice to make."

First, search for and download the MotoNovel app from Google. Then, open the app and use the code "294871" to read the entire book.