Gemotions

The morning sun blazed, reflecting off the freshly waxed hood of Beatrice’s cherry-red convertible. She stretched, a long, languid movement that accentuated the perfect lines of her tailored suit. Today was the day. The presentation. She knew it would go flawlessly. Her plan was airtight, her arguments unassailable. She hopped into the car, a smile playing on her lips, ready to conquer the day. The engine purred, a contented rumble. Then, a sharp crack, and the unmistakable groan of metal on asphalt.

“What in the…?” Beatrice squinted, already formulating a swift, cutting remark. A tow truck, its driver a burly man in a greasy cap, was expertly hauling her beloved car away. She strode towards them, her heels clicking on the pavement.

“Excuse me,” she began, her voice smooth but laced with steel. “I believe there has been a mistake. That’s my car.”