Chapter 8 - SPEECHLESS IN THE ASHES
Back in Boston, the autumn wind swept through the charred, skeletal remains of the Brookline estate.
Victor Vance stood alone on the public sidewalk outside the chain-link fence that now surrounded the burned-out property. The city had already slapped a municipal condemnation notice on the front gate, declaring the structure a public hazard and demanding immediate demolition at the owner's expense.
He had nowhere to go. His commercial accounts were frozen, his credit rating was obliterated, his mistress had vanished into the Florida sun, and his newly transplanted kidney—the very organ Sarah had so selflessly surrendered to keep him breathing—pounded steadily inside his chest with every beat, a permanent, ticking reminder of what he had so recklessly thrown away.
A city official walked up behind him, clipboard in hand, and tapped Victor on the shoulder.
"Mr. Vance? Are you the registered owner of this parcel?"
Victor turned around slowly, his face gray, his eyes hollow and dead. He looked at the official, then at the black, ruined timbers of the house where he had spent twenty-two years feeling like a king while a queen tended to his every need.
"No," Victor whispered, his voice cracking into a dry, desolate rasp that was swallowed instantly by the wind. "I'm nobody."
May you like
The official frowned, checked his clipboard, and walked away.
Victor stood frozen on the sidewalk, utterly speechless, realizing too late that the most expensive thing a man can lose is not a house, nor money, nor even health—but the one person who loved him enough to give him her life, and wise enough to take it all back when he forgot its worth.
