On my way to my grandfather’s will reading, a homeless man suddenly blocked my path and shouted, “Don’t take that car!” My heart stopped — and when I finally arrived at the meeting, my parents collapsed at the sight of the man standing right behind me.
The summer sun glared off the polished hood of my father’s silver Lexus as I stepped out of the townhouse. My hands trembled slightly, though I told myself it was only nerves.
Today was the reading of my grandfather’s will — the man who built the Pierce family empire and who, even in death, still seemed to hold my future tightly in his cold, unseen hands.
“Don’t be late, Emily,” my mother had reminded me that morning. “Your grandfather hated lateness.”
Of course he did. He hated weakness too. Maybe that was why I had to go alone — to prove that I wasn’t the shy, stuttering girl he had dismissed years ago.
I slid into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and rolled down the window to let the heavy summer air in. That’s when I saw him — a ragged man, maybe in his fifties, standing near the corner where the fence met the alley. His clothes were torn, his hair wild, but his eyes… they were sharp, startlingly aware.
He stepped toward me just as I shifted into gear.
“Don’t take that car!” he shouted, his voice hoarse but filled with urgency.
I froze.
“What?” I called back, my hand hovering over the window button.
He pointed at the Lexus, his arm trembling. “That car — don’t drive it! You don’t understand!”
My heart pounded. “Why? Who are you?”
Before he could answer, a car honked behind me. A delivery van driver leaned out and shouted for me to move. I looked back toward the homeless man, but he had already stepped away, shaking his head as if in despair.
I told myself he was just another disturbed soul — a random encounter in the city. Yet the chill crawling up my spine didn’t fade. I drove off, gripping the wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white.
