As I promised, Bellamy Tech was dismantled by the SEC investigation. My assets were frozen, my stock liquidated to pay massive fines for the corporate negligence that allowed Whitmore to launder money through my firm. I lost the Belle Meade mansion. I lost the fleet of cars. I lost the title of CEO.
I had never felt lighter in my entire life.
Two years later, I live in a modest, three-bedroom ranch house in Franklin, about ten minutes from Maren. I work as a mid-level software consultant. I drive a beat-up sedan.
And in my small, cramped kitchen, hanging on the wall in a cheap black frame, is a single, creased twenty-dollar bill. It is the first thing I see when I make coffee in the morning, a daily reminder of the price of arrogance, and the day I almost drove past my own salvation.
Maren did not take me back immediately. Forgiveness is not a switch you flip; it is a house you build brick by agonizing brick.
