Page 37 of October
Laura used me.
My wife left me.
My kids resent me.
Is this what rock bottom feels like? Because it sure felt like I'd arrived. No,crashedinto it. Face-first.
I sat there in my car at the edge of the park, staring out into nothing—at a bench, at a tree, at the dark shapes that didn't move—numb. Hollowed out. Like everything I'd built, everything I'd believed about my life, had just collapsed under me. And I was the only one left in the wreckage.
But I wasn't the victim here.I was the cause.It was all my fault.
October's pain, her exhaustion, the way her voice cracked when she finally said, "divorce"—that was on me. Jimmy's anger, the distance in his eyes when he looked at me like I was a stranger—that was on me. Even my father's control over my life, the wayI bent to him without even realizing it... that, too, was on me. I neglected the woman I promised to love forever. I gave scraps to the kids who only ever wanted my time. I chose legacy over laughter, pride over presence, control over connection.
And now? Now, I was alone.
Completely, utterly alone.
Chapter Thirteen: The Silent Hold
The next morning came slow, thick with dread. My body moved through the motions, shower, coffee, clothes, but my mind was stuck somewhere back on the porch, where October had looked me in the eyes and told me she was done. Where Jimmy told me to leave us alone. Where everything that mattered fell out from under me.
I was mid-sip when my phone buzzed—Dad. Of course. I braced myself and answered.
"Hello?"
"Finally," he snapped. "How come you didn't answer my calls yesterday? Even Laura's been trying to reach you. She was worried."
I rubbed my temple. "Sorry, Dad. I was busy."
"Busy," he echoed with disdain. "Right. As usual. I can't rely on you. Thank god for Laura—at least she doesn't disappear when things get serious."
I didn't respond.
"We're leaving for Portugal in a few days. It's all in motion. Pack your things, get your head straight, and be ready. Understood?"
"Yes, Dad," I muttered.
Click. He hung up, like always. No goodbye. No pause. No space to be a human being.
I turned around.
"So," I said. "We're acting soon, right?"
Mom nodded. Across the room, the attorney—Langley—didn't even look up from his folder. "Yes," he confirmed.
Langley looked at Mom, then back at me. "We move money. Quietly. We tip off the right people—federal auditors, IRS, SEC. We give them just enough to make them start digging. The rest... the rest comes from the collapse itself."
I blinked, trying to follow.
"You want to call the feds."
"Yes," Langley said. "But we do it smart. We don't just give them dirt. We give them blood. The kind that stains everything he touches. We have enough evidence."
"How do you even have access to the trust? The accounts? Mom?" I asked, my voice low, disbelieving.
"Because your father," she began slowly, "trusted me more than he realized. Or maybe less, depending on how you look at it."
She looked up at me, her gaze level and steady. "Years ago, he got sick. Nothing public—just a serious health scare. There was a period where he wasn't sure he'd be able to run the company, handle the estate, manage everything. He needed someone he trusted absolutely. Not a business partner. Not even you. Me."
