Chapter 7 - The Scramble and the Betrayal
The fall from grace is fast, but the descent into sheer desperation is instantaneous.
By Tuesday afternoon, the Lake Forest mansion had become a prison. Outside the gates, hundreds of outraged protestors and paparazzi had gathered, holding signs that read *PROTECT THE BABY* and *PUT DIANE IN JAIL*.
Inside, the luxury was beginning to rot.
The domestic staff—the private chef, the three housekeepers, and the groundskeeper—had all walked out after discovering that the payroll checks issued under Morrison Global had bounced. The refrigerator was empty, save for three bottles of expensive champagne and half a carton of expired almond milk.
In the master suite on the second floor, Jessica Taylor was frantically shoving designer handbags, diamond-encrusted watches, and fur coats into two massive Louis Vuitton suitcases.
Brendan stumbled into the room, holding a half-empty bottle of bourbon, his eyes wild and bloodshot.
“What are you doing?!” Brendan slurred, grabbing Jessica’s arm. “Where are you going with my stuff?”
Jessica violently yanked her arm out of his grasp, her eyes filled with cold, pure contempt. “Get your filthy hands off me, Brendan! Your stuff? You don't have *any* stuff! You’re broke! You’re a criminal!”
Brendan blinked, stunned. “Jess... baby, what are you talking about? We’re in this together! My legal team is filing an injunction! We’re going to get the accounts back!”
Jessica let out a harsh, mocking laugh that cut deeper than any insult Cassidy had ever delivered.
“Are you really that stupid, Brendan?” she sneered, zipping up the first suitcase with a violent yank. “What legal team? I answered your phone an hour ago! Kirkland & Ellis dropped you as a client! Sullivan & Cromwell won't even take your calls! You don't have a legal team because you don't have any money to pay their retainer!”
“I... I still have the real estate,” Brendan stammered, his hands shaking violently. “The Aspen chalet! The penthouse!”
“The SEC froze every single property this morning, you idiot!” Jessica screamed in his face. “They found the paper trail! They know you bought my condo with embezzled pension money! The federal marshals put a seizure notice on my front door an hour ago! I’m being dragged into a federal fraud investigation because of you!”
Brendan stood there, paralyzed, the bourbon bottle slipping from his fingers and shattering against the hardwood floor.
“You... you loved me,” Brendan whispered, tears of pathetic self-pity welling in his eyes. “You said I was the only man who truly understood your ambitions.”
Jessica rolled her eyes, throwing a handful of Brendan’s gold Rolex watches into her purse. “I loved the private jets, Brendan. I loved the front-row seats at Milan Fashion Week and the corporate black cards. But a man who isn’t smart enough to know his own wife owns the company he runs? You’re not a CEO. You’re a clown. And I don’t stay with clowns who are heading to federal prison.”
Before Brendan could react, Jessica grabbed her bags and shoved past him into the hallway.
Downstairs in the grand foyer, Diane Morrison was sitting on the bottom step of the sweeping staircase, her face pale, her hair uncombed, clutching an eviction notice wrapped in clear legal plastic.
Two uniformed Lake County sheriff's deputies were standing in the open doorway, while six professional movers in dark jumpsuits were already rolling heavy furniture dollies into the formal drawing room.
“You can’t do this!” Diane wailed, clutching the deputy’s sleeve. “This furniture belonged to my great-grandmother! This rug was imported from Isfahan!”
The lead deputy, a stern man with thirty years on the force, gently but firmly peeled Diane’s fingers off his sleeve.
“Mrs. Morrison, the deed to this house, the land, and all furnishings purchased after October 2018 belong exclusively to Aegis Horizon Capital,” the deputy said flatly. “The writ of immediate possession was signed by Judge Thornton this morning. You have forty-five minutes to gather your personal clothing and medication. Everything else remains on the premises.”
Brendan rushed down the stairs, catching Jessica as she reached the front door. “Jess, please! Don’t leave me like this! Take me with you!”
Jessica didn't even look back. She pulled open the heavy oak door, stepped right past the sheriff’s deputies, and walked out into the blinding glare of the paparazzi flashbulbs, ducking into a waiting yellow cab without offering Brendan a single backward glance.
Diane looked up at her son from the stairs, her face aged twenty years in a single night.
“Brendan,” she sobbed, her voice hollow and ruined. “What did you do? What did you do to us?”
Brendan stood in the center of the grand foyer he had walked through with unearned arrogance his entire life, listening to the sound of movers packing up his family’s stolen legacy.
He was penniless. He was disgraced.
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And for the first time in his life, he was utterly, irrevocably alone.
***
