Chapter 8 - The Cost of Glass
By five o'clock that evening, the collapse of Hale Holdings was the top story on every news station in the Midwest.
The State Attorney’s Office had issued a formal subpoena for Douglas Hale’s financial records dating back to 1995. Two major banks had called in forty million dollars in short-term construction loans, and the city council had voted unanimously to terminate the riverfront development agreement.
I sat in the small back office of Reyes & Daughter Auto Repair, watching the local news on a small black-and-white television resting on the filing cabinet.
The screen showed a mob of reporters standing outside the grand entrance of Hale Plaza.
Grant Hale stepped out through the revolving doors, surrounded by three security guards, trying to shield his face from the flashing cameras.
"Mr. Hale! Has the board asked for your resignation?"
"Mr. Hale! Did you know about your father's tax fraud?"
"Grant! Do you have a statement for your wife?!"
Grant stopped for a fraction of a second, looking directly into a camera lens. He looked exhausted, his hair unwashed, his dark suit wrinkled. For the first time in his life, he looked like a man who didn't belong in his own skin. He didn't say a word. He ducked his head and scrambled into the back of a waiting taxi.
The door to the shop office opened softly.
Nadia walked in, holding a brown paper bag smelling of hot carnitas and fresh tortillas.
"The news says Douglas Hale turned himself in to the federal courthouse twenty minutes ago for processing," Nadia said, tossing the bag onto my desk. "His lawyers are trying to get him out on a two-million-dollar bond."
I pulled a taco from the bag, taking a small bite. "He'll pay the bond. He has the money."
"Not for long," Nadia said with a sharp laugh. "Elena said his personal assets are tied up in the corporate guarantee. By next month, the bank will own his house in Lake Forest."
She sat on the corner of the metal desk, looking down at me with a soft, gentle expression.
"How do you feel, Willa?"
I looked at my hands. The silver locket around my neck felt cool against my skin.
"I thought I would feel happy," I whispered, looking out the office window at the mechanics working in the bay. "I thought watching them lose everything would make up for five years of feeling small."
"And doesn't it?"
I shook my head slowly. "No. Revenge doesn't fix the five years I lost, Nadia. It just clears the trash out of the way so I can start walking again."
My dad walked into the office, carrying a heavy iron skillet filled with roasted peppers.
"Food's warm," he said, setting the skillet on a trivet on the desk. He looked at me, his dark eyes warm and proud. "Elena called. The final divorce papers will be ready for your signature on Monday morning. Grant agreed to waive all claims to the gallery, the apartment furniture, and your personal assets. You're free, mija."
I looked at my dad, at Nadia, at the greasy tools hanging on the pegboard behind them.
"We need a new building for the gallery, Dad," I said softly.
May you like
My dad pulled a cold beer from the mini-fridge in the corner, popping the cap with the side of a brass wrench.
"I know a place on Armitage," my dad said, a small smile touching his lips. "Old brick warehouse. Strong roof. Needs a little iron work, but the foundation is solid."
