Epilogue: The $4.20 Checkmate
Two hours later, at the Park View Gardens apartment complex, Donovan and Brenda stumbled off the elevator. Their door was wide open. Four burly movers were hauling massive black trash bags into the hallway. A cheap suitcase was chucked at Donovan’s feet, bursting open and scattering his faded dress shirts across the carpet.
A six-foot-three bodyguard blocked the doorframe. “This property was transferred via expedited deed one hour ago. It is now the sole property of Miss Eleanor Prescott. Aside from your personal clothing, every single piece of furniture purchased with her funds is to be destroyed and incinerated as medical waste.”
Donovan looked past the guard. In the living room, the 80-inch flat-screen TV he loved was being smashed with a sledgehammer. The fabric sofa I used to read on was slashed to ribbons with box cutters.
“Get out,” the bodyguard shoved Donovan hard in the chest. Donovan crashed onto the hallway carpet as the heavy door slammed shut, the electronic lock beeping sharply.
Desperate, Donovan dragged his broken suitcase to Khloe’s apartment in Queens, hoping to live off the $150,000 he had given her. He found her loading two massive Louis Vuitton trunks into an Uber SUV. She didn’t have the baby. She had dumped Mason with her mother.
When Donovan begged her for help, Khloe looked at him like he was a diseased rat. “I heard the news. Apex got bought out by Vanguard. You’re about to be a convicted felon. You walked away from five billion dollars to act like a big shot with me. You are so incredibly stupid, you aren’t even fit to shine my shoes.” She got into the SUV and sped away, leaving Donovan to faceplant violently onto the asphalt, his chin tearing open on the rough street.
The next morning, in the corner of a grimy, run-down diner, Donovan dialed his direct boss at Apex Solutions, begging for mercy regarding the $50,000 embezzlement.
His boss’s voice was like a block of ice. “Donovan, Vanguard’s forensic accountants tore your books apart. You didn’t just embezzle $50k. You took $100,000 in illegal kickbacks from vendors. The evidence is with the federal prosecutor. Vanguard’s VP of Human Resources blasted an industry-wide Level-One blacklist alert last night. You couldn’t get hired to scrub toilets right now. You messed with the wrong people. Burn in hell.”
The line went dead.
Sitting in that plastic diner booth, a text message popped up on Donovan’s phone.
United States District Court, Southern District of New York. Donovan Hayes, you are hereby indicted for wire fraud, corporate embezzlement, and bigamy. You are ordered to appear for arraignment. Failure to appear will result in a federal arrest warrant.
Federal sentencing guidelines. Ten years minimum.
Donovan slowly opened his banking app. Yesterday afternoon, every single account—checking, savings, Venmo—had been flagged with a red FROZEN BY COURT ORDER banner. He only had the loose change in his pocket. On the screen, one single account balance remained unfrozen.
Available balance: $4.20.
Donovan stared at the number. He thought about throwing a $200 tip at a Ritz waiter just to look cool. He thought about smashing an irreplaceable Ming vase. He thought about standing in my hospital room, arrogantly demanding a cut of five billion dollars. A corporate manager brought to his knees by a single phone call from the wife he thought was a doormat. Ten helicopters. Total annihilation in under twenty-four hours.
From his throat came a wheezing, broken sound. It was the sound of a human mind shattering under the weight of absolute, unendurable despair. He buried his face in his hands, collapsing onto the greasy diner table, letting out a hysterical, agonizingly horrific laugh.
He was finally a free man. And it had cost him absolutely everything.
