Chapter 9 - The Ashes of Maple Ridge
Two weeks later, the house on Maple Ridge Drive was silent.
The 'For Sale' sign on the front lawn had been replaced by a notice of foreclosure. The BMW in the driveway had been repossessed by the bank, and the front windows were dark, mirroring the empty, ruined life of the man inside.
Richard Trent sat alone at the kitchen island, surrounded by packing boxes, a half-empty bottle of scotch by his elbow. His firm had suspended him pending a federal investigation. His partners had distanced themselves within twelve hours of receiving the financial audit. His country club membership had been revoked before he could even resign.
He lifted his glass to his lips, but his hand shook so badly the amber liquid sloshed over the rim, staining the marble countertop.
May you like
He was entirely, utterly alone.
He had spent three years believing he was the architect of his own world, building a fortress of control around a woman he thought he owned. He hadn't realized until it was too late that a foundation built on violence and lies can never hold its own weight when the storm finally hits.
