Chapter 4 - Collateral Damage
By the end of the first week, the silence in my new apartment was a stark contrast to the chaos exploding in the world below.
Adrian was unraveling. The police had visited his office a second time to issue a formal warning regarding his voicemail, forcing him to cancel his afternoon meetings and flee through the basement garage to avoid the local business reporters who had caught wind of the drama.
Without access to the company’s operating capital, his firm was bleeding. Vendors were threatening to pull their services. Employees were whispering about missed payroll.
And then, there were my parents.
Through a private investigator Mara had hired, I received a detailed report of their movements. Desperate and out $55,000, they had driven to Adrian’s house, expecting him to bail them out. They still believed Adrian was the golden son-in-law, a fountain of wealth who would surely side with them against their "hysterical" daughter.
The security footage the PI obtained was almost cinematic.
My parents stood on Adrian’s grand porch, pounding on the mahogany door. When Adrian finally opened it, he looked disheveled. The perfectly tailored suits were gone, replaced by wrinkled sweatpants. The polite, charming smile he always reserved for them had vanished.
“Adrian, thank god,” my mother had said, stepping forward. “Evelyn has lost her mind. She ruined our mortgage. We need you to float us a loan until we can talk some sense into her.”
Adrian, pushed to the brink of losing his empire, finally dropped his mask.
“Are you deaf or just stupid?” he snarled, running a hand through his unkempt hair. “Your useless daughter froze my accounts! I can’t even pay my lawyers, let alone fund your pathetic suburban house!”
“Excuse me?” my father puffed up, indignant. “How dare you speak to us like—”
“Get off my property,” Adrian spat, slamming the heavy door in their faces.
They stood there for a long time, staring at the closed door. The reality of their situation was finally sinking in. They had traded their daughter’s safety for the illusion of wealth, and now they had neither.
That afternoon, I received a lengthy, tearful email from my mother. It was full of apologies, excuses, and pleas for forgiveness. She claimed they hadn't understood the "severity" of my injuries. She claimed they were just stressed. She asked if we could meet for coffee.
I didn't reply. I didn't even feel angry anymore.
May you like
I felt nothing. They were strangers to me now, casualties of a war they had chosen to ignore until it arrived at their doorstep. I moved the email to the trash and turned my attention back to the spreadsheet on my monitor.
It was time to introduce Adrian to the IRS.
