Chapter 7 - The Cheap Apartment
Two weeks after the gala, Victor Hail found himself sitting on the edge of a thin mattress in a cramped, drafty one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of Baltimore.
The walls were painted a dull, peeling yellow. The radiator clanked loudly every twenty minutes, spitting out a meager burst of heat that barely cut through the autumn chill. Outside the window, traffic hummed constantly along a dirty four-lane avenue.
It was almost identical to the apartment he had lived in ten years ago—before he met Mara.
He had no car; his luxury SUV had been repossessed because the lease was under Hail Development Group. He had no credit cards; every account tied to his name remained frozen under the ongoing court order. He had eighty-four dollars in a hastily opened basic checking account.
His phone buzzed on the formica nightstand.
He grabbed it frantically, hoping it was his high-priced defense attorney. It wasn't. It was Celeste.
“Victor!” she sobbed into the receiver. “You ruined everything! My father lost the company! The bank took my car! Where are you? You need to send me money!”
Victor looked around his miserable, barren room and let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “Send you money, Celeste? I’m eating canned soup with a plastic spoon. Your father sold you out, and my wife took everything I ever thought I owned.”
“You’re a coward, Victor!” she screamed. “You promised me the world!”
“Don't call this number again,” Victor said quietly, and hung up the phone. He threw the device onto the bed, burying his head in his hands.
A soft knock sounded at the apartment door.
Victor’s heart skipped a beat. Mara? Had she come to see him? Had she realized that this punishment was too severe? Had she remembered the love they once shared?
He scrambled to his feet, rushed to the door, and pulled it open.
It wasn't Mara.
It was Silas.
The youngest Ellison brother stood in the dim, dingy hallway wearing a leather jacket, his dark eyes looking over Victor’s shoulder at the pitiful apartment behind him.
“What are you doing here?” Victor asked, his voice trembling slightly as he instinctively backed away from the doorway.
“Checking on Mara’s investment,” Silas replied, stepping into the small entryway without asking. He looked at the water stains on the ceiling, the scratched linoleum floor, and the single suitcase sitting in the corner.
“Are you here to beat me up, Silas?” Victor spat, trying to summon a shred of his former dignity. “Is that what you Ellison men do? Flex your muscles until everyone surrenders?”
Silas turned, looking Victor dead in the eye. “I don't need to lay a finger on you, Victor. Life is doing a far better job than I ever could.”
Silas reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, worn piece of paper, holding it out toward Victor.
Victor looked down. It was a framed photograph from eight years ago—a picture of him and Mara standing in front of their very first small construction site, covered in mud, laughing hysterically while holding a wooden sign that read Hail & Ellison Build the Future.
“Mara found this while packing up her things from the house,” Silas said quietly. “She wanted me to make sure you had it.”
Victor felt a sudden, crushing lump form in his throat. He reached out with a trembling hand and took the small frame.
“She’s never coming back, is she?” Victor whispered, his eyes welling up with real, unbidden tears for the first time since the disaster began.
“No,” Silas said firmly. “The girl in that photo loved a man who dreamed about building things. You became a man who preferred breaking them. You broke her heart, Victor. And then you raised your hand against her face.”
Silas turned toward the door, stopping with his hand on the knob.
May you like
“The divorce hearing is in three weeks,” Silas added without turning around. “Sign the settlement papers Adrian sent your lawyer. Don't fight it. Because if you make her sit in a courtroom and face you again... my brothers and I will make sure you spend the next ten years in a federal prison for that three million dollars.”
The door closed with a soft click, leaving Victor standing alone in the cold, echoing room, staring at the face of the woman who had loved him when he had nothing.
