After my divorce, I kept the Jaguar.

I’d been making every payment, so I figured transferring the loan into my name would be easy.

Ford Credit had other ideas.

First, they wanted my father’s signature. Fine.

Then they wanted my mother’s.

I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I’m fairly certain it ended with me hanging up the phone.

For the next six months, I drove around in a Jaguar that Ford Credit very much wanted back.

They never found it.

Mostly because it spent a lot of time hiding in the underground garage of my apartment building.

This is where Vinny enters the story.

Vinny and I shared office space. Somewhere along the way, she became my best friend.

She was also an attorney.

And, conveniently, she owned the apartment building where I lived.

One morning Vinny called.

“Don’t leave the apartment. The repo man is here.”

So I stayed home.

The Jaguar stayed downstairs.

Ford Credit went home empty-handed.

When I did drive, I usually took Vinny with me.

Not for company.

Just in case I got pulled over.

At the time, having my attorney riding shotgun seemed perfectly reasonable.

Still does.