Chapter 9 - The Anatomy of a Coward
Derek didn't leave with dignity.
Men like Derek Holloway never do. When the veneer of corporate superiority is peeled away, there is nothing underneath but a small, terrified child who has spent his life stealing other people’s achievements.
He spent forty minutes frantically stuffing clothes into two designer leather duffel bags. He tried to take the silver cutlery Sarah had given Melissa for their wedding; Joanna intercepted him in the dining room, snatched the mahogany box from his hands, and set it firmly behind her.
"Don't touch what isn't yours, Derek," Joanna said, her voice dripping with pure disgust.
"You're all going to regret this!" Derek screamed from the stairs, his tie dangling loose around his collar, his hair disheveled. "You think you've won? Holloway Risk Solutions handles forty percent of the commercial underwriting in this county! I’ll make sure no bank ever extends Harold a line of credit again! You’ll be bankrupt by spring, you old grease monkey!"
Evelyn Vance didn't even look up from her phone on the kitchen counter. "Derek, I'm currently on a conference call with Marcus Thorne, the senior managing director of your brokerage."
Derek stopped dead on the third stair. His face drained of whatever color had returned to it.
"What?" he squeaked.
Evelyn turned the phone on speaker. A deep, resonant, and unmistakably furious voice echoed through the high-ceilinged foyer.
*“Derek? Is that you?”*
Derek swallowed so hard I could hear the click in his throat from ten feet away. "M-Mr. Thorne... Marcus. I can explain—"
*“Don't speak,”* Marcus Thorne commanded. *“Evelyn Vance has just forwarded me your corporate credit card records, along with the lease agreement for The Royce Suites signed under an unregistered affiliate. Did you actually think you could use firm reserve funds to lease an apartment for Chloe Vance?”*
"Marcus, it’s an entertainment annex—"
*“Chloe Vance was terminated twenty minutes ago,”* Thorne said, his voice flat as an iron slab. *“Her security badge was revoked, and her personal effects are currently sitting in a cardboard box on the curb outside the Columbus office. Your termination is effective immediately. The board has already authorized a full forensic audit of your book of business. If one dollar of firm capital is missing, Derek, I won't just sue you. I will personally hand the file to the United States Attorney’s Office.”*
The line went dead.
Derek stood on the stairs, clutching his duffel bags, his knuckles grey. He looked at Conrad, who was standing near the front door, his camel-hair coat clutched around him like a burial shroud.
"Dad?" Derek whispered.
Conrad didn't look at his son. He didn't offer a word of comfort. Conrad Holloway was a man who spent his life curating his image among the county elites, and his son had just become radioactive.
"Get your bags, Derek," Conrad said coldly, his hand on the doorknob. "We’re leaving."
"Dad, what about my car?"
"The Audi is leased under the corporate fleet account, Derek," Evelyn said without looking up from her tablet. "And as of nine-fifteen this morning, Harold executed a commercial possessory lien against all vehicles associated with Holloway Land Holdings. The keys stay on the hook."
Derek let out a strangled, pathetic sound—halfway between a sob and a scream—and dropped his bags at the bottom of the stairs. He fished the key fob from his pocket and threw it viciously against the wall. It cracked against the drywall, leaving a dent in the plaster before dropping onto the rug.
He picked up his bags, pushed past his father, and stumbled out into the freezing November snow.
Conrad paused at the threshold. He looked back at me, his jaw set, his eyes dark with a mixture of hatred and cold realization.
"This isn't over, Harold," Conrad said quietly. "You took my son’s career. You took his home. You think you can crush my family without consequences?"
"Conrad," I said, leaning on my cane, feeling the solid oak floor beneath my boots. "You're sixty-two years old. You've got twenty-two delivery vans that need engine overhauls to pass the state commercial inspection next Friday. If I don't sign the safety release forms, your logistics contracts with Amazon and FedEx expire on December first."
I took one slow, deliberate step toward him.
"Don't talk to me about consequences. You're living in them."
Conrad’s lips parted, but no sound came out. He turned, pulled the heavy oak door open, and walked out into the blinding white storm.
The door clicked shut.
May you like
The house fell completely, utterly still.
***