Chapter 2 - Crumbling Clay
By Thursday, the shock had worn off, and the sheer, desperate panic had set in for Gage.
Freezing his business accounts meant he couldn't pay his suppliers, he couldn't pay the shop's electric bill, and most importantly, he couldn't withdraw cash to feed whatever lifestyle he had been faking for his friends. The illusion was evaporating.
I was sitting in my living room reading a book when the motion sensors on my driveway pinged.
I pulled up the security app on my phone. Gage was marching up the driveway. He looked unhinged. The crisp linen shirt from the party was replaced by a wrinkled hoodie. He didn't have the BMW, which meant he had either walked or taken the bus—a reality that must have felt like acid to his massive, fragile ego.
He didn't ring the doorbell. He started pounding on the heavy oak door with his fists.
"Open the door!" he screamed, his voice cracking. "I know you're in there! Open the damn door!"
Kendall walked out of her room, pausing at the end of the hallway. She looked at the vibrating door, then looked at me. I didn't get up from my chair. I simply raised a finger to my lips, telling her to stay quiet.
"You froze my accounts!" Gage yelled, kicking the bottom of the door. "You vindictive witch! I'm going to lose the shop! Open the door and talk to me!"
I picked up my phone, dialed 911, and put it on speaker.
"911, what is your emergency?" the dispatcher asked.
"Yes, my name is [My Name], and I need police at my residence immediately," I said calmly, ensuring my voice was loud enough to carry to the door. "There is an aggressive man pounding on my door, screaming threats. He is attempting to break in. My teenage daughter is in the house, and we are terrified."
The pounding stopped instantly.
"Are you serious right now?!" Gage shouted through the wood, his voice suddenly laced with genuine fear. "You called the cops?!"
"They are on their way, ma'am," the dispatcher said. "Are you in a safe room?"
"We are," I replied. "Please hurry."
I heard the rapid crunch of footsteps on the gravel driveway as Gage sprinted away from the porch. By the time the cruiser pulled up with its lights flashing five minutes later, Gage was long gone.
The police took a report. I showed them the footage from the porch camera. I explained that my brother was experiencing a severe financial crisis and was acting erratically. They offered to have a patrol car pass by the house for the next few nights, which I accepted.
When the officers left, Kendall sat down on the couch next to me.
"He's really going to lose the shop?" she asked.
"Yes," I said. "He is."
"Are Grandma and Grandpa going to lose their house?"
I looked at her. I needed to be honest. "Yes, sweetie. I stopped paying their rent. They have until the end of the month to figure it out, or they will be evicted."
Kendall processed this. In the past, she would have cried. She would have begged me to help them because she had a heart made of gold. But gold is soft. It can be easily dented, easily scratched. What Gage had done to her at that party—and what my parents had done by smiling—had tempered that gold into something much harder.
"Good," she finally said. She stood up and went back to her room.
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The next day, the collapse of Gage’s empire became public. I drove past his shop on my way home from a client meeting. There was a bright orange notice taped to the inside of the glass door. NOTICE OF SEIZURE. The lights were off. The expensive pottery wheels he had begged me to help him finance were sitting in the dark, gathering dust.
He had lasted exactly five days on his own.
