My Driver Stole My Car Then Called Me a Gold Digger – My driver brought his girlfriend along every single morning when he picked me up for work. Since it was on the way, I never said anything about it. Until the day I opened the car door and found a note taped to my usual spot in the backseat. “No Freeloaders Allowed.” I ripped the note off and held it up. “What is this?” The driver’s girlfriend glared at me from the passenger seat. “What’s the matter, can’t you read? Every day you’re all over my boyfriend’s car like you own it. You got no shame? If you can’t afford a ride, stay home. I’m so sick of freeloaders like you.” I stared at her, baffled. My driver rushed over to my side, dropping his voice. “Miss Shaw, my girlfriend doesn’t know I’m your driver. She’s just, you know, possessive.
She only put that there because she’s crazy about me.” He hesitated, then added, “Also, she’s not super comfortable with you in the car. Let me drop her off first, and I’ll swing back for you.” Then he climbed into my car and drove off, leaving me standing there. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. “Hi, a man and a woman just stole my car. Please send someone immediately.” *** I never imagined that as the CEO of a publicly traded company, someone would spit in my face and call me a freeloader. And the car in question was my own. Twenty minutes after I called, a Sheriff’s Deputy cruiser pulled up to the curb. The two deputies barely had time to step out and ask what happened before Dean Lewis came screeching back in my black Cadillac Escalade. He slammed the brakes right in front of me, jumped out, his face bone-white. “Miss Shaw, what’s going on? Why did you call the cops?” I looked at him and said nothing.
The deputy looked him over. “Are you the man Miss Shaw says took her vehicle without permission?” Dean’s composure cracked instantly. “No, no, officer, this is all a misunderstanding. I’m Miss Shaw’s driver. I drive for her every day. I just gave someone a quick lift on the way. It only took a few minutes. There’s no car theft here.” He gestured at the Escalade with a strained smile. “See? I brought it right back.” The deputy glanced between us. “Miss Shaw, do you still want to pursue this?” Before I could answer, Dean leaned in close, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. “Miss Shaw, please… let this slide. For my dad. He drove for you for years. You know his health’s been bad. I finally found a girlfriend, and I did it for him, you know?” “To give him some peace of mind. I just panicked back there. I was just trying to hold things together with her. I didn’t know what else to do.” When Dean brought up his father, I hesitated.
Hank Lewis was my driver for six years. Honest, steady, never caused a single problem. Not one late arrival, not one traffic ticket. Every holiday, he’d refuse the cash bonuses I gave him, waving them off until I practically forced them into his hands. Three months ago, they found something in his lungs. He needed long-term treatment and had to step down. His last day, he stood in my office rubbing his rough hands together, struggling to get the words out. Finally, he told me his son Dean had just lost his job. If the company had an opening, if it wasn’t too much trouble, could I give him a chance? That man never asked for a single thing his whole life. That was the first time. I said yes for his sake. Dean’s first two months were decent enough.
He wasn’t the most reliable driver I’d ever had, but he showed up on time and kept the car clean. That changed last month. The morning Dean pulled up and I saw a woman in the passenger seat caked in makeup, I didn’t know what to make of it. Dean rushed around to open my door, lowering his voice. “Miss Shaw, this is my girlfriend, Tiffany Locke. Her job’s on the way to your office, so I figured I’d give her a lift.” I nodded. No big deal. Just a ride. That’s what I thought at the time.