Chapter 11 - The Fall of Brian
Brian signed the decree at 4:18 PM.
He didn't have a choice. The alternative was a multi-count federal indictment that would have put him in a federal penitentiary in Marion, Ohio, for seven to ten years.
By Friday morning, the Franklin County sheriff served the formal eviction notice at 412 Highclere Court.
I stood on the opposite side of the cul-de-sac, leaning against Rachel’s car, watching the private movers Brian had hired load his remaining personal possessions into the back of a rented U-Haul truck.
It was raining again—a cold, gray Ohio drizzle that turned the front lawn to slick mud.
Brian walked out through the front door carrying two cardboard boxes.
He had lost ten pounds in two weeks. His tailored suit was gone, replaced by a faded gray Ohio State hoodie and dirty jeans. His hair was unwashed, his face covered in patchy stubble. He looked twenty years older, a hollow shell of the golden boy who had smiled at me across the table eight years ago.
Meridian Capital had fired him on Thursday morning. The official reason was “unauthorized use of corporate accounts and gross breach of fiduciary duty.” His broker’s license had been suspended by FINRA pending the outcome of the forensic audit.
He dropped the boxes onto the tailgate of the U-Haul and stopped.
He saw me standing across the street.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. The only sound was the steady patter of rain against the autumn leaves.
Then, Brian began walking toward me.
His boots dragged through the wet grass. He crossed the asphalt, stopping five feet from where I stood. He didn't look angry. The fight had been completely beaten out of him. He looked like a drowning man who had finally realized there was no shore.
“Hannah,” he whispered, rain dripping from the brim of his hood down his hollow cheeks.
“Brian.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking into a dry, ragged sob. He dropped to his knees right there on the wet pavement, his hands clasped together, looking up at me through a blur of tears. “I’m so sorry, Hannah. I don't know what happened to me. I got greedy. My mother kept whispering in my ear that I deserved more, that Jessica was the key, that you were holding me back... I was weak. I was an idiot. Please... please don't take everything.”
I looked down at the man I had loved for nearly a decade.
I felt no rage. I felt no burning desire to kick him while he was on his knees in the street.
I felt only a profound, crystalline pity—the kind of pity you feel for a rabid dog that has broken its own teeth trying to chew through a chain-link fence.
“I didn't take everything, Brian,” I said calmly. “You gave it away. You gave it to Jessica Pratt. You gave it to Midwest Specialty Hardware. You gave it to your mother’s vanity.”
“We can start over,” he begged, reaching out toward the hem of my coat, his fingers shaking. “I’ll get a job anywhere. I’ll work construction. We can move away from Columbus. Just don't divorce me, Hannah. Don't leave me alone with them.”
I pulled my coat back, just an inch, out of his reach.
“The divorce decree was entered into the court docket an hour ago, Brian,” I said. “The judge signed it. We are legally strangers.”
Brian buried his face in his hands, his sobs loud and pathetic in the quiet neighborhood. The movers across the street paused, watching their employer weep on his knees in the rain, before awkwardly returning to loading the truck.
“Where am I supposed to go?” Brian cried into his hands. “I don't have anywhere to go.”
“Maybe try the kitchen, Brian,” I said softly.
I turned around, opened the door to Rachel’s car, and sat inside.
May you like
Rachel put the car in drive. We pulled away from the curb, leaving Brian Michael Cole kneeling alone in the rain, surrounded by cardboard boxes, on the pavement outside the house he no longer owned.
***
