Chapter 6 - The Unraveling of Nicholas
Two weeks after his termination, Nicholas hit rock bottom. The lavish wedding photos he had been so worried about "ruining" were never published anywhere; the marriage itself was crumbling under the weight of financial ruin and social humiliation.
I was working late at my laptop when my office phone buzzed. It was nearly nine in the evening. I answered, expecting a client from the West Coast.
"Jenna... please," a broken voice whimpered from the receiver. It was Nicholas. He sounded drunk, his words slurring slightly, the polished, confident tone he had used his entire life completely shattered.
"Nicholas? Where are you?" I asked, a faint pang of old sibling instinct striking my chest despite everything.
"I'm at a bar near the waterfront," he muttered. "Chloe left, Jenna. She packed her bags and went back to her parents' house in Connecticut. She took the wedding gifts. Even that stupid, expensive coffee machine you bought... she took that too."
I leaned back in my chair, staring out at the city lights. "I'm sorry to hear that, Nicholas."
"No, you're not," he laughed bitterly. "You're glad. You planned this, didn't you? You sat at that kids' table like a spider, waiting for me to step into your trap. You wanted everyone to see me fail."
"I didn't plan anything, Nicholas," I said softly. "I went to your wedding to celebrate your marriage. I spent thousands of dollars on a gift I thought you'd love. I wore the dress you chose, the makeup you requested. I sat where you told me to sit without causing a scene. You were the one who couldn't leave well enough alone. You saw an opportunity to exploit my hard work for your own greed, and you pulled the trigger yourself."
There was a long silence over the line, save for the background noise of glasses clinking at the bar.
"I don't know what to do, Jenna," he whispered, sounding like a terrified child for the first time in his life. "The headhunters won't even take my calls. My name is toxic in this city. Every time someone Googles 'Nicholas Vance,' that compliance article pops up. I have two months of savings left before the bank forecloses on the condo."
"Then sell the condo, Nicholas," I said practically. "Move into a smaller apartment. Get a job outside of investment banking. Start from the bottom, where the rest of the world starts."
"The bottom?" he scoffed, his old arrogance flaring up for a brief second. "I have an Ivy League degree, Jenna! I belong at the top!"
"No, Nicholas," I corrected him firmly. "You think you belong at the top. That's your flaw. You think prestige is an entitlement rather than something earned through integrity. Until you understand that, you'll never build anything that lasts."
"Can you... can you lend me some money? Just fifty thousand to cover the bridge loan?"
May you like
I closed my laptop, the definitive click echoing through the empty office. "No, Nicholas. I won't fund your denial. If you want to change your life, do it honestly. But the Bank of Jenna is closed."
I hung up the phone, realizing that for the first time in my life, looking at my brother didn't make me feel small or inadequate. It just made me feel free.
