There is a finality in that kind of touch. Not violent. Not theatrical. Just finished.
“You chose your family at Thanksgiving,” I said.
Her face crumpled.
“Enjoy the harvest.”
Then I walked away.
Elias fell into step beside me without saying a word. Behind us the hallway dissolved into shouting again—Trent blaming Julian, Jasmine calling for her mother, Brenda crying my name—but I never turned around.
Six months is not a long time.
It is long enough, however, for greed to strip itself naked.
Julian was disbarred before the season changed. The state bar moved with astonishing speed once the deposition transcript, offshore records, and court filings reached the ethics panel. His firm removed his name from internal directories almost immediately. Clients fled. Colleagues stopped returning calls. Men who had once admired his aggression began describing him as “deeply disappointing,” which is professional class language for radioactive.
Federal charges followed.
Perjury.
Wire fraud.
Tax evasion.
Asset concealment.
The condo was seized.
Lauren disappeared the same week.
Whatever affection she believed she had for him evaporated the moment federal agents started freezing accounts. She did not do visiting rooms and legal retainers. She did balcony photos and hand-selected throw pillows. When the money ended, so did the romance.
Trent’s fall was uglier.
The FBI raided his office and home on the same morning. Neighbors stood on sidewalks pretending not to stare while boxes of records, desktops, and hard drives came out the front door. His cars were seized. His accounts frozen. His sham consulting firm collapsed before lunchtime. The man who once spoke to me with the superior patience of someone explaining things to the help ended up handcuffed on a curb, shirt untucked, face gray.
Jasmine filed for divorce within weeks.
But that did not save her. There was no hidden reservoir of competence under the aesthetics. No profession to return to. No financial discipline. No quiet savings of her own. She had built a life entirely dependent on the wallets and delusions of men. When both collapsed, she discovered that beauty is not legal tender.
She moved from house to hotel to a weekly rental on the edge of town. She called people she had mocked, asking for loans. Most had already seen the news.
Brenda took a plea deal.
That was the only way she avoided prison.