She Stole My $32 Million Bike,So I Sent Her to Prison

To stay in shape, I'd turned down the butler manservant butler's offer to drive me around in the Rolls-Royce. Instead, every single day, I rode a Trek Butterfly to and from work.

One coworker who had a grudge against me would always get snide whenever she saw my bike. Riding a bicycle to work must save you a ton of money, huh? That BMW X3 of mine eats up almost a thousand bucks a month just in gas. I'm so jealous of you. Why don't you lend it to me for a couple of days?

I ignored her. I just figured she had a screw loose.

That Friday, I clocked out as usual and headed down to the parking garage.

But the spot where my bike should've been was bare. All that was left was a lock that had been cut open.

A slip of paper was pinned under the broken cylinder. I tugged it free and read it.

Yolanda Matthews, I signed up for a mountain cycling club trip this weekend, and I don't have a bike.

I asked to borrow yours before and you never said yes. Just let me have it this once. I promise I'll return it exactly the way I found it.

I called her, wanting to tell her the bike was expensive and not built for mountain trails, and to bring it back.

To my surprise, the second she picked up, her irritated voice came through.

"Yolanda, you're being so stingy. It's just a beat-up old bike. Is it really worth calling me over?"

"I gotta go, I'm about to fall behind the group. Don't call me unless it's an emergency. Honestly, with an attitude this cheap, what man's ever going to want you?"

The line went dead.

I folded the note back up and tucked it inside my phone case.

I'd better keep this note safe. If my thirty-two-million-dollar bike came back with so much as a scratch, this would be the clearest evidence I had.

After she hung up on me, I sent Candice Jennings a message on Slack.

I never once said you could borrow my bike. This is theft.

I don't want to blow this up. Bring the bike back now and I'll pretend I never saw any of it.

This is your last warning. If you don't return it, don't blame me for forgetting we were ever coworkers.

Send.

I stared at the screen, watching the status flip from "Unread" to "Read."

And still, no reply.

I pressed my lips together.

Read and ignored, huh.

Then don't blame me for not caring about the coworker thing anymore.

I went to the building's property office and pulled the garage security footage.

The footage showed me at nine that morning, riding in on my bike, locking it up, and walking away.

At five thirty in the evening, Candice came down to the garage, circled my bike once, then left.

At five forty-five, Candice came back, a pair of hydraulic bolt cutters in her hand. She snapped the lock off my bike, tossed it aside, then pulled out a slip of paper and shoved it under the lock.

At exactly five fifty, Candice rode off out of the garage on my thirty-two-million-dollar Trek Butterfly.

I recorded the whole thing on my phone.

The building's security guard could tell my bike had been stolen too. He picked up the desk phone and held it out to me.

"Call the cops. The evidence is all right here. You should get it back pretty fast."

But I just smiled and shook my head.

"No need."

Calling the cops now would let her off too easy.

I had to wait for her to dig her own grave, wait until she'd buried herself in it, and make sure she never forgot it.

A woman like this, with no sense of boundaries, who couldn't take a hint and revolved entirely around herself, needed to hurt. She had to hurt down to the bone before she'd ever understand she was wrong.

The next day was Saturday.

I got up early. The manservant had made breakfast.

I ate while scrolling through my phone.

Then I scrolled right past a familiar face. It was Candice.

There she was, on some mountain somewhere, wearing gray yoga pants and a purple sun shirt, leaning against a strangely shaped bike painted to look like a butterfly.

Behind her stretched a skyline washed in sunrise, framed by lush green mountain forests.

The caption underneath read: "Weekend ride. What a glorious land we live in."

That was my bike.

My mouth twisted. I forwarded the video to my manservant, pressed two thousand dollars into his hand, and told him to find out where this place was.

He took the cash and left, practically beaming.

He'd barely stepped out when my phone buzzed. A voice message from my best friend, Georgina Simmons.

"Hey? Yolanda, did you see what Candice posted on her feed?"

"I saw it."

"That's your bike, isn't it?"

"It is."

I'd only been riding the Trek Butterfly to work for under a month, so almost no one at the company knew about it, let alone what it actually cost.

The only two people who knew were Candice and Georgina.

"Then you need to get it back fast. That bike of yours costs a fortune. What if she wrecks it riding around like that? Did you forget her nickname?"

I let out a small laugh.

Of course I remembered.

Candice was hopelessly careless.

Send her to make copies, and she'd somehow break the machine and spray toner everywhere.

Send her to fetch water, and she'd faceplant on flat ground, shattering every cup in the office.

Eventually the boss just swapped them all out for plastic ones.

Sit her at a desk, and her computer would constantly crash.

On top of all that, she loved helping herself to other people's things, and she especially loved never giving them back.

The whole office had learned to guard their belongings like she was a thief.

After she became infamous enough, everyone started calling her "Sticky-Fingers Candice."

I smiled. "No need. Doesn't she love taking other people's stuff and never returning it?"

"This time I'll let her take all she wants. Let her have her fun."

"Later on, she'll have plenty of time to cry."

The manservant found the mountain they were climbing soon enough. It was called Fourbright Mountain, not too steep, perfect for cycling and road trips.

The butler drove me to the rest stop at the foot of Fourbright Mountain. According to the manservant's intel, that was where their ride had started.

Sure enough, as we got close, I could see more than a dozen people lingering at the rest area from a distance, their bikes parked crookedly along the road.

A woman in yoga pants stood chatting cheerfully with a few men in mismatched cycling jerseys.

That was Candice.

"Candice, your bike's got a real sleek look. When'd you get the new ride?" A heavyset man ran his hand over the Trek Butterfly, marveling.

"Yeah, anyone can tell that thing wasn't cheap. Gotta be, what, seven or eight grand?" A tall, lanky man added, his eyes shining with envy.

Candice's face was all smiles. She waved a hand.

"Oh, come on, it was only two or three thousand. There's no such thing as a bike that expensive."

"I wouldn't be so sure. I remember reading about some foreign brand that sold for over thirty million dollars." Big Mike said.

"Candice, let me take it for a spin, would you? I want to feel what a ride like this is like!"

Candice froze for a beat, hesitation flickering across her face.

"I mean, sure, I guess. But this bike's pretty pricey, so if you want to ride it..."

"You buy me a Red Bull after?"

"Deal!" Big Mike didn't hesitate.

Candice handed him the bike. He swung a leg over, and before he'd gone two pedals, he hit a stray rock and went down hard, bike and all, sprawled across the road.

The bike skidded outward, scraping along the pavement, peeling away a good chunk of its beautiful paintwork.

"II didn't mean to!" The heavyset man scrambled to his feet, his face flushed with embarrassment. "This thing's too light, I just wasn't ready, that's why I tipped over!"

"Come on, Big Mike. Her bike's light, sure, but yours isn't exactly a tank. You're riding a Giant that ran you over ten grand. How much more expensive can this thing really be?"

"You wiped out, so you wiped out. Quit making excuses!" the lean man laughed.

Big Mike's face flushed a deep red. Flustered, he hoisted the bike up and passed it around so the others in the club could feel the weight for themselves.

"See? I told you. This bike's ridiculously light. Way lighter than my Giant."

"Damn, he's right. This thing's so light it's like there's nothing in your hands at all."

"No kidding. One look at the build and you can tell it's worth tens of thousands, easy. Don't even compare it to your ten-grand bikes."

"Pfft! Well, it's not even yours! It's Candice's!"

"Candice, come on, how much did this bike actually cost? Don't give Big Mike that 'twenty, thirty grand' line. Tell us the real number."

Candice was clearly basking in all the attention. Every compliment aimed at the Trek Butterfly, she took as a compliment to herself, her face glowing with smug pride.

"I didn't realize you all knew your stuff. This bike runs over seventy grand."

The whole crowd erupted. Every face wore the same I-knew-it expression, all of them locked on the strange-shaped bike with its vivid paint job, unable to tear their eyes away.

First time on a group ride, and someone shows up on a seventy-grand bicycle. Who wouldn't be eaten up with envy?

"Damn, Candice, I just took a spill on it. You're not gonna make me pay for it, are you?" Big Mike said, half-joking, half-serious. "Because I sure can't afford to replace this thing. If you insist, I guess I'll just have to give you my hand in marriage!"

"Get lost!" Candice didn't care in the slightest, laughing as she shot back. "Relax, I'm not making you pay. If I were that petty, I'd never have let you ride it."

Only then did Big Mike let out a slow breath, relieved.

Just then the ride captain came over clapping his hands, urging everyone to get ready. It was time to set off.

I sat inside the car and asked the manservant in the passenger seat, low, his camera propped up and rolling.

"Did you get all of it?"

"Got it. 4K, crystal clear. You can count the pores on their faces."

"Including the part where that heavyset man dropped my bike?"

"Got it, Yolanda. Every second of it, I promise."

"Good." I said it flatly. "All day today, I want every single thing they do to my bike on film. Don't let any of it slip past."

"Yes, ma'am!"

Candice and her group started pedaling up the mountain. She hadn't even gone two miles before she pulled over at a roadside lookout.

She pointed off into the distance and shouted, beaming, "Wow, look over there, it's gorgeous!"

Then she just tossed the bike aside. It hit the gravel road with a clatter.

"Come on, let's all take a picture here together!"

Big Mike dragged his slightly heavy frame over, glanced at the bike Candice had shoved to the ground, and shook his head. "Candice, this bike of yours is so expensive. You're really just gonna chuck it on the side of the road like that?"

"Oh, relax, it's just a bicycle. A bike's a tool, isn't it? You don't see a mechanic babying his screwdriver." Candice couldn't have looked less concerned.

Soon enough, once they'd finished snapping photos, they climbed back on and hit the road again.

By noon, the captain found a guesthouse halfway up the mountain and led everyone in for lunch.

The captain said the view from the middle of Fourbright Mountain was second only to the summit, so he gathered the whole club for a big group photo.

They took several shots in a row, and Candice was unhappy with every one of them.

"You guys are all way too tall. If we frame the guy in the back row, all you'll see of me is the top of my head."

"And if we frame it for my upper body, then you can't even see the back-row guy's head anymore."

The club captain looked half-exasperated. "Why don't you find something to stand on?"

Candice thought it over, and her face lit up.

She just dragged the Trek Butterfly off where it lay on its side, planted her foot on the pedal, and boosted herself up a few inches.

That way the camera could catch her and the guys in the back row all at once.

The captain shot her a thumbs-up.

When the group photo was finally done, Candice raced straight over to the captain and demanded a copy.

My phone buzzed. I opened it to find the group photo Candice had just snapped.

In it, she stood on top of the Trek Butterfly, plain as day.

A message sat underneath.

Yolanda, had so much fun today, thanks for the bike!

The corner of my mouth curved up.

Having fun, are we?

Let big sister make it just a little more fun for you.

I switched screens and dialed 911.

"Officer, I'd like to report a theft. One of my bicycles is missing."

"It has a GPS tracker. I've already located it. It's up on Fourbright Mountain. Could you help me out?"