She Swapped My Mercedes Engine So I Sued Her Into Debt

Something's off with this engine, ma'am.

The mechanic at the Mercedes dealership service center emerged from beneath the hood, his expression a strange mix of confusion and seriousness.

I stared at him. What's off?

The original factory setup for this car is an imported engine, he said, wiping his hands with a rag. "The one in here now... it's not."

I looked at the open engine bay. Just three months ago, before my Aunt Joyce borrowed the car, everything under that hood had been pristine.

"So what is it now?" I asked.

The mechanic avoided my eye. "Could you wait in the lounge? I need to have our Technical Director take a look."

1.

Aunt Joyce showed up at my condo while I was having dinner three months ago.

"Kendall, honey, I have a massive favor to ask you."

She sat across from me, radiating that overly warm smile. I knew that smile. Id seen it my whole life. It always meant a request followed by a silent, but definite, expectation of compliance. It always preceded a "borrow."

"What is it, Aunt Joyce?"

"That gorgeous Mercedes of yours. Could I borrow it for just one month?"

My chopsticks froze halfway to my mouth.

My car was a C 300. I bought it three years ago for close to sixty thousand dollars. Id scraped together the down payment and had only just paid off the final loan installment a few months prior.

"You need a car?"

"Well, yes. Your Cousin Brooke's husband, Leohis company is organizing a big scenic road trip out west. The Rockies, maybe even the coast. Your uncle's sedan is a total clunker. I mean, we can't show up in that thing."

My mother, who was visiting, immediately chimed in. "Your aunt is in a bind, Kendall. Just lend it to her for a month."

"But I need it to get to work," I protested.

"Can't you take the subway? Its just thirty days," Mom snapped, giving me the 'don't-dare-disappoint-family' glare. "Your aunt has asked you. How can you say no?"

Aunt Joyce reached across the table and patted my hand, her voice dripping with sincerity. "Kendall, I promise you, I will treat it like my own. I'll bring it back washed and detailed. If theres even a single scratch, Ill pay for it, I swear."

I looked from my mothers pleading eyes to my aunt's eager face.

"Fine," I sighed.

"Oh, Kendall, you're such a good girl!" Joyce sprang up. "Where are the keys? Were leaving tomorrow morning!"

"Aunt Joyce, I haven't even"

"Don't worry, Ive been driving for twenty years. My technique is flawless. Yours is an automatic, right? Perfect. Less hassle for me."

I handed her the keys, a knot of unease tightening in my stomach.

"Aunt Joyce, the odometer reads 20,000 miles, and the tank is full. When you bring it back"

"I know, I know. Ill fill it up for you. One month. Max. I promise Ill have it back by then."

That night, lying in bed, the uneasy feeling lingered.

But my mom said, "Your aunt would never take advantage of you. You're overthinking this."

I didnt realize at the time that 'one month, max' would turn into three.

The first month, Joyce said the scenery in the Rockies was so beautiful, she needed a few more days.

The second month, she said theyd detoured to the Pacific Northwest and it would be a shame to miss the coast.

The third month, she said the car had a "minor issue" on the road and she was waiting for a small repair before driving it home.

I had asked for the car back three times during that period.

The first time, she said: "Soon, soon. Don't rush me."

The second time, she said: "Taking the subway is good for a young woman like you. Builds character."

The third time, she simply didn't reply to my text.

My mom told me not to make a big deal of it. "Your aunt hardly ever takes a vacation. Cant you just let her enjoy herself?"

Three months later, Aunt Joyce finally returned the Mercedes.

She drove it to the complex, called to say the keys were at the front desk, and left without coming upstairs.

When I walked downstairs, she was gone.

I circled the car. The exterior looked okay, freshly washed. But something felt wrong.

I opened the door. A cloud of stale cigarette smoke hit me.

I dont smoke.

The odometer read 28,000 miles.

I had lent it out at 20,000.

Three months, 8,000 miles driven.

I got into the drivers seat and started the engine.

The sound was off.

It used to be a smooth, low purr. Now it was rough, almost coarse.

I convinced myself it was just my imagination, that I was just out of practice.

But I hadn't driven five blocks before I knew.

The power was off.

When I accelerated, the transmission stuttered, a jarring hesitation that had never been there before.

My heart sank. I called Aunt Joyce.

"Aunt Joyce, is something wrong with the car? It doesn't feel right when I drive it."

"No, it's perfectly fine! Maybe you're just not used to it since you haven't driven in a while."

"You said you had a 'small issue' and got it fixed. What exactly did you repair?"

"Just an oil change and some minor fluid top-off. Nothing serious."

"Where did you take it?"

"Just a little roadside shop. I don't remember the name."

I hung up, my intuition screaming at me.

The next day, I took a half-day off work and drove to the Mercedes dealership.

"I need a full bumper-to-bumper diagnostic."

The service advisor checked me in. "Ma'am, has this vehicle been in an accident recently?"

"I don't know," I said. "It was borrowed by a relative."

"Understood. Please have a seat in the waiting area. We'll call you when we have the results."

I waited for almost two hours.

Then, the Technical Director himself came out to find me.

"Ms. Hall? Could I speak with you privately?"

His expression was grim.

My stomach dropped.

2.

The Technical Director, Mr. Jenkins, led me into a small conference room, a thick stack of printed reports in his hand.

"Ms. Hall, the situation with your car is complicated."

"How complicated?"

"First, your engine... it's been swapped out."

I went numb. "Swapped? What does that mean?"

"When this vehicle left the factory, it was equipped with the original imported M264 engine." Mr. Jenkins pointed to a string of numbers on the report. "The engine currently in the car is a salvaged, used domestic unit."

"A salvaged part?"

"Yes. It means it was pulled from a totaled or junkyard vehicle, refurbished, and re-used."

A deafening buzz filled my head.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. The engine has a unique factory serial number. We cross-referenced it with your vehicle's registration records. They do not match."

"But... how is that possible?"

Mr. Jenkins looked at me, his tone calmclearly, hed seen this kind of thing before. "This car was borrowed for the last three months, correct?"

"Yes. By my Aunt Joyce."

"Then it almost certainly happened during that period. The current engine's wear level doesn't align with your cars mileage. Furthermore, replacing an engine is a major repair. We checked our systemthere are zero records of any engine-related service for your vehicle at any certified center."

"So it was done outside of a dealership?"

"Most likely."

I took a shaky breath. "How much was my original engine worth?"

"A brand-new, original M264, parts and labor, would cost you around $28,000."

"And the one in there now?"

Mr. Jenkins paused. "This is a salvaged unit, and frankly, its a poor-quality one. If I had to put a price on it... maybe 0-0,500."

$28,000.

0-0,500.

The two numbers spun in my mind, a sickening carousel.

"Are there other issues?"

"A few." He turned the page. "The transmission has signs of fluid leakagelooks like the undercarriage took a hard hit. The brake pads are severely worn, which wouldnt happen with normal driving unless there was a lot of hard braking. And finally, the rear bumper has a noticeable patch job. Looks like a fender-bender that was handled privately, not through insurance."

"Handled privately?"

"Yes. No record. And the bodywork is subpar. Not done by a professional shop."

I leaned back in the chair, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Three months.

8,000 miles.

Engine swapped for a junkyard part.

Leaking transmission.

Worn pads.

Private, shoddy paint repair from an accident.

What had Aunt Joyce said when she borrowed it?

"I will treat it like my own."

"If theres even a single scratch, Ill pay for it."

I let out a short, choked sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob.

"Can I get a written copy of all these findings?"

"Of course. Ill have them printed for you."

"And photos."

"No problem."

Mr. Jenkins stood up. At the door, he looked back at me. "Ma'am, if you don't mind a piece of advice."

"Go ahead."

"You won't be able to claim this through insurance because the engine swap isn't in your records. If you decide to pursue this, you'll have to either negotiate with the person who borrowed the car or take legal action."

"I understand."

He left.

I sat in that small room for a long time.

Then, I called Aunt Joyce.

"Aunt Joyce, I need to ask you something."

"What is it, honey?" Her voice was carefree. "I gave the car back. What else could there be?"

"Its about the engine."

Silence on the other end for two seconds.

"What about the engine?"

"Aunt Joyce, I took the car to the dealership today for a full check. They told me the engine has been swapped out."

"...What?"

"The original imported engine was replaced with a salvaged unit."

The silence this time lasted longer.

Then, Joyce's voice, rising sharply, full of indignation. "That is impossible! I drove it perfectly fine! How could the engine be swapped? Are you sure the dealership isnt ripping you off? Theyll say anything to get money."

"Aunt Joyce, I have the report. The engine serial numbers don't match."

"Well, it wasn't me who swapped it!"

"Then who was it?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Her voice was a shout now. "I just drove it normally! Don't you dare try to pin this on me!"

"Aunt Joyce, you mentioned the car had a 'small issue' and you had it repaired outside."

"I just got an oil change! Does an oil change swap out an engine?"

"Which shop did you go to? What was the name?"

"I told you, I don't remember! Why are you asking so many questions?"

I took a deep breath, fighting to keep my voice even. "Aunt Joyce, the original engine was worth $28,000. The one in there now is worth 0-0,500. The difference is $26,500."

The other end of the line went completely silent.

After about ten seconds, she spoke.

"Kendall, what exactly are you implying to your old aunt?"

"Im implying, Aunt Joyce, that you need to pay that amount back."

"Pay? Pay $26,500?" Her voice became a screech. "Are you insane? I borrowed your car, and you want me to pay you twenty-six thousand dollars?"

"You returned my car with a salvaged engine."

"I did not swap your engine! It had nothing to do with me!"

"Aunt Joyce, the car was in your possession when this happened."

"Well, I don't know what happened! It wasn't me!"

I wasn't going to argue with her on the phone anymore.

"Fine, Aunt Joyce. Let's talk about this face to face."

"Talk? There's nothing to talk about!"

She slammed the phone down.

I looked at the inspection report in my hand, my own trembling.

Not from sadness.

From pure, cold rage.

3.

When I got home that evening, my mother already knew.

Aunt Joyce had clearly launched the first offensive.

"Kendall, how dare you speak to your aunt like that?"

I placed the diagnostic report on the kitchen table. "Mom, just read this yourself."

She glanced at it, but didn't pick it up.

"What is all this nonsense? I cant read this technical stuff."

"The engine was swapped. The original was worth $28,000. The replacement is a salvaged piece of junk worth 0-0,500."

"What do you mean 'swapped'? Your aunt would never swap your engine!"

"She was driving it, Mom. It happened on her watch."

"Do you have proof? Did you see her do it?"

"Mom, it went out of my driveway with the original engine, and it came back with a junk part. Who else could it be?"

Mom frowned. "Your aunt said she was driving normally. She said nothing happened. You actually believe the dealership? They're just trying to scare you into buying a new engine."

"Mom, the engine serial numbers don't match. It's solid proof."

"What good are those codes? I don't understand that stuff. What I do understand is that you can't talk to your aunt like that. She is your elder."

I took a steadying breath. "Mom, it's $26,500. Not twenty-six dollars."

"I know that. But you can't just accuse your aunt. What if the repair shop did it?"

"Then she took it to the repair shop. Shes still responsible."

"Responsible for what..." My mom waved her hand dismissively. "I know your aunt. She would never pull something like this. There must be a mistake."

"Mom, whose side are you on?"

"Whose side?" My mother glared at me. "I'm on your side! I'm trying to prevent you from blowing this up and ruining our family relations forever!"

"$26,500. Are you telling me to just forget about it?"

"When did I say forget about it? I'm telling you to stop being so accusatory. Talk to your aunt nicely. Shell own up to it eventually."

"Nicely?"

"Yes! Youre the younger one. Apologize first, smooth it over, give her an out. She cares about appearances, you know. Just let her save face."

I managed a laugha harsh, desolate sound.

"Mom, someone destroyed my property, and I have to apologize first?"

"Destroyed? The car still runs, doesn't it?"

"With a salvaged engine that could fail any day? No, it doesn't run, Mom. It's a liability."

"Well, then fix it."

"Fix it? An item worth $28,000 was replaced with one worth 0-0,500, and 'fixing it' is supposed to be the end of this?"

My mom was taken aback, her face tightening with displeasure. "Kendall, why are you talking to me this way? Im looking out for you! If you make a scene like this, how are you going to show your face at the family holiday gatherings? What if your aunt holds a grudge?"

"She swindled me out of $26,500, and I should be worried about her grudge?"

"You..."

Mom took a deep, shuddering breath and softened her tone. "Kendall, listen to your mother. Your aunt is not someone you want to cross. Your Uncle Jack, your Aunt Suethey all side with her. If you alienate her, youll be the black sheep of the family."

"The black sheep?"

"Yes! Theyll say youre spoiled and you care too much about money to respect your elders."

I stared at my mother for a long few seconds.

"Mom, you know I spent three years paying off that car loan. Over five hundred dollars every month. I never missed a payment."

"I know, honey..."

"No, you don't. You just told me to lend it to her. You didnt think about how hard I worked to pay it off."

"Kendall"

"I'm done, Mom. I'll handle this myself."

I picked up the report and walked to my room.

As I closed the door, I heard my mother sigh deeply outside.

"That child. Why is she always so stubborn..."

I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling.

$26,500.

For me, that was two years of solid savings.

For Aunt Joyce, it was a "small issue."

For my mother, it was "not worth the fuss."

But why?

Because she was my elder?

Because she was my mother's sister?

Because I was supposed to be the "good girl?"

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the old text thread from when she borrowed the car.

Aunt Joyce: Kendall, honey, can I borrow the car for a month? I promise to take care of it.

[Me]: Sure thing, Aunt Joyce. Odometer is 20,000 miles. Full tank.

Aunt Joyce: Don't you worry, I'm responsible.

I screenshotted it.

I scrolled down to her texts asking for extensions.

Aunt Joyce: Kendall, the Rockies are too beautiful, I need a few more days.

[Me]: Okay, Aunt Joyce. When do you think youll be back?

Aunt Joyce: Give me one more week.

Two weeks later:

Aunt Joyce: Kendall, we detoured to the coast. It would be a crime to skip the Oregon trail now that were here.

[Me]: Aunt Joyce, its really hard for me to get to work.

Aunt Joyce: Taking the subway is good for you. Builds character.

One month later:

Aunt Joyce: Car has a small issue out here. Getting it fixed, then Ill be home.

[Me]: What kind of issue? Is it serious?

Aunt Joyce: Nothing serious, relax.

I screenshotted all of it.

She said "small issue," she said she fixed it.

Now the engine was gone.

I opened my browser and searched: stolen engine replacement rights US law.

Most threads said it was "difficult." Without direct proof, proving who did the swap was hard.

But some mentioned civil litigation.

The person who borrowed the car is the primary responsible party.

It was 11 p.m.

Tomorrow, I was going to make my first move.

4.

I arranged to meet Aunt Joyce on the weekend.

I chose a quiet coffee shop. My mom insisted on coming, saying she was going to be the "mediator."

Joyce arrived late, with my cousin, Brooke, for moral support.

As soon as they sat down, Joyce launched in. "Kendall, you dragged me all the way out here. Are you going to cross-examine me now?"

"Aunt Joyce, I just want clear answers."

"Answers to what? I told you I didn't swap your engine. What more do you want?"

"Aunt Joyce, when you borrowed the car, you promised to take care of it."

"I did take care of it!"

"Then how is the original engine gone?"

Joyce's face darkened. "What are you implying? That I took time out of my vacation to swap your engine? Why would I possibly do that?"

"Then tell me: how did the car end up like this?"

"How should I know?" Joyces voice rose. "I drove normally. We went through some mountain passes in Colorado, and once, climbing a steep hill, I felt the power lagging. I found a random shop, had them check it, and they said everything was fine after an oil change."

"Just an oil change?"

"Yes! Just an oil change!"

"What was the name of the shop? Where was it located?"

"I told you, I don't remember! We were in a hurry! Why are you drilling me?"

I pulled the diagnostic report out and placed it on the table.

"Aunt Joyce, please look at this."

She barely glanced at it. "I won't look at it. It's gibberish."

"The engine serial number is wrong. The original was the imported M264. This is a salvaged domestic part."

"Serial numbers, codesit's dealership nonsense! They'll say anything."

"Aunt Joyce, this is a technical diagnosis, not nonsense."

"Fine, fine, whatever you say." Joyce scoffed. "You've already decided Im guilty. Whats the point in me talking?"

At that point, Brooke jumped in. "Kendall, just spit it out. What's the bottom line?"

I looked at my cousin. "Brooke, the bottom line is, I want to know how the engine went missing."

"My mom said she doesn't know. What more do you want from her?"

"If she doesn't know, does that mean she's not responsible?"

"Responsible for what?" Brooke arched an eyebrow. "You lend out a car and suddenly my mom has to pay for everything?"

Mom grabbed my arm. "Kendall, be nice..."

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to remain collected.

"Aunt Joyce, Brooke. I'm not interested in proving who did the swap. I am saying that someone needs to cover the loss."

"And you want my mom to cover it?" Brooke sneered. "$26,500? Why don't you just rob a bank?"

"Its $28,000 minus 0-0,500. $26,500, to be exact."

"Fine. $26,500." Brooke threw her hands up. "You expect my sixty-year-old retired mother to hand over twenty-six thousand dollars?"

"Shouldn't she?"

"Why? It wasn't intentional!"

"So, unintentional damage means no compensation?"

"You"

Brooke started to argue again, but Joyce held up a hand to stop her.

"Enough," Joyce said, her expression shifting. "Kendall, I'll ask you one question. Are you dead set on making a big deal out of this?"

"Aunt Joyce, this isn't a 'big deal.' This is normal civil recourse."

"Civil recourse?" Joyce gave a hollow laugh. "You're talking 'recourse' with your own aunt? Is this how your mother raised you?"

"Aunt Joyce, this has nothing to do with how my mother raised me."

"It has everything to do with it!" Joyce spun to my mom. "Sister, look at your daughter! Listen to her! I am her elder!"

Mom looked mortified. She mumbled, "Kendall, mind your tone..."

"Mom, what about my tone is wrong?"

"You..."

Joyce cut my mom off. "Fine. I see."

She pulled out her phone, scrolled through it, and showed the screen to me.

"Look. This is the repair shop in Grand Junction. I found the transaction record. It was $850. That covered the oil change and a small service fee. If you don't believe me, check it yourself."

I glanced at the receipt.

Payee: XYZ Auto Repair.

Location: Grand Junction, CO.

$850.

"Aunt Joyce, replacing an engine costs far more than $850."

"Exactly!" Joyce put her phone away. "I never replaced the engine! I just got an oil change! The engine has nothing to do with me!"

"Then how is the engine gone?"

"I don't know! Maybe the repair shop did it! Maybe the dealership made a mistake! It was not me!"

I looked at Joyce. She was completely self-righteous.

She acted like I was the one who victimized her.

"Aunt Joyce, I can contact that repair shop and investigate."

"Investigate all you like!" Joyce stood up. "I've made myself clear. This is not my problem. If you insist on blaming me, do what you have to do."

"Aunt Joyce, I'm not blaming you. I'm talking about liability."

"Liability?" Joyce snorted. "If you knew anything about 'liability,' you wouldn't be arguing with your aunt over this."

She picked up her bag, gave my mom a cool look, and spoke in Chinese: "Sister, I cannot deal with your daughter anymore. You manage her."

Then, she walked out without looking back.

Brooke followed, but paused to give me a final shot. "Kendall, you're unbelievable. For one beat-up car, is this really worth it?"

They were gone.

The coffee shop fell quiet.

My mom looked at me and let out a huge sigh.

"See? Look what you did. You drove your aunt away."

"Mom, she swapped my engine for a junk part. I have a right to ask questions."

"The way you asked them! Who could put up with that?"

"What way? I was perfectly calm."

"The things you said! Every sentence was designed to force her to admit guilt! Why would she admit to anything?"

"If she did something wrong, why shouldn't she admit it?"

"Kendall, why cant you understand?" Mom lowered her voice. "Your aunt is sensitive about appearances. The more you push her, the less likely she is to confess. You have to handle her gently, give her a graceful out."

"Handle her gently?"

"Yes! Apologize for your tone earlier, and then talk to her slowly."

"Apologize for what, Mom? I'm the victim here."

"You apologize to get the problem solved!"

"Is this really how you solve problems?"

I looked at my mother, overcome with a deep sadness.

"Mom, do you know that ever since I was a kid, every time Aunt Joyce took advantage of us, you told me to let it go? When she gave my toys to Brooke, you said to share. When she borrowed my savings in collegethree thousand dollars I worked hard forshe didn't pay it back for two years, and you told me not to worry about money among family. Now she's swapped my engine for a junk part, and you still want me to apologize?"

"Kendall..."

"Mom, answer me one question. Are you standing with me, or with her?"

My mother froze.

"I... Im standing with you, of course..."

"Then can you support me in getting this money back?"

Mom opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

I waited a few seconds.

"Mom, I understand. You don't want to ruin your relationship with your sister. But I can't let this go. $26,500 is two years of my life."

I stood up.

"If you don't want to help me, fine. But don't stand in my way."

I picked up the report and walked out.