Chapter 9 - Nolan's Desperation
At 2:30 p.m., Nolan showed up at the downtown office of Mercer Consulting.
The receptionist, whom I had instructed to screen all visitors, buzzed my private line. "Tessa... Nolan is in the lobby. He’s refusing to leave until he speaks with you. He says he has the paperwork."
"Send him in," I replied. "And have building security stand right outside the door."
A moment later, Nolan walked into my executive suite. The contrast between the man who had strutted around the country club two years ago and the wreck standing before me was staggering. He had dark circles under his hollow eyes, his hands had a persistent tremor, and his expensive linen shirt was wrinkled and stained.
He clutched a blue manila folder in his left hand.
"Sit down, Nolan," I said, not looking up from my laptop.
Nolan walked over and collapsed into the leather chair opposite my desk. He placed the folder between us.
"Mom signed it," he said in a whisper, his voice dead of all energy. "The quitclaim deed. She signed Parcel 4B over to your holding company. The notary at the bank verified it an hour ago."
I pulled the folder toward me, opened it, and examined the official county transfer deed. Judith’s signature was shaky, a jagged line that barely resembled her usual sweeping cursive, but the red notary seal was crisp and legally binding.
"Jonathan Drake will review this with the county clerk to ensure there are no encumbrances or secondary tax liens," I said, closing the folder.
"Now drop the charges," Nolan pleaded, leaning forward, his voice cracking with raw panic. "You promised, Tessa. You said if we gave you the land, you’d drop the embezzlement complaint against me."
"I said I would drop the corporate fraud charges against *you*, Nolan," I corrected him. "And I will instruct Jonathan to file the dismissal once the deed is officially recorded at four o'clock."
Nolan slumped back in his chair, exhaling a long, shuddering breath. "Thank God... thank God."
"Don't thank God yet," I said coldly. "The state attorney’s office is still investigating Judith for wire fraud regarding Apex Logistics. That’s a public criminal prosecution, Nolan. I don't control the district attorney. Your mother made her bed when she opened those shell accounts."
Nolan looked like he had been punched in the gut. "Tessa, she’s sixty-two years old! She won't survive a prison sentence!"
"She should have thought about that before she spent fifty thousand dollars of my money on offshore crypto," I said without an ounce of sympathy. "Now, is there anything else? Because I have a board meeting in ten minutes."
Nolan didn't stand up. He stared at the polished mahogany desk, his lip quivering.
"Brianna left me," he whispered.
I kept my expression completely flat. "Not surprising."
"She packed everything she had left this morning while I was taking Mom to the bank," Nolan choked out, a tear sliding down his unshaven cheek. "She told me I was useless. She said without the house and the Mercer name, I’m just an unemployed loser who tricked her into getting pregnant."
"She wasn't wrong, Nolan."
Nolan looked up at me, his eyes pleading for some microscopic shred of the love we had once shared over five years of marriage.
"Tessa... we were good once," he whimpered. "Remember our trip to Amalfi? Remember when we first bought the ridge, how we sat on the hood of my truck and planned the garden? I made a mistake. A horrible, catastrophic mistake. I got scared of getting older, I got insecure because you were making all the money, and Mom kept poisoning my mind... but I still love you. We can fix this. We can sell the house, take the money, and start over somewhere new. Just you and me."
I stared at him for three full seconds, then let out a quiet, humorless chuckle.
"You really are pathetic, Nolan," I said softly. "You didn't realize you loved me when you brought Brianna into my bed. You didn't realize you loved me when you packed my clothes into cardboard boxes and threw them on the curb. You only 'love' me right now because the parasite lost its host, and you have nowhere else to feed."
Nolan flinched as if I had whipped him across the face.
"Get out of my office, Nolan," I said, standing up and pointing toward the door. "If you ever contact me again outside of our divorce mediation, I will have security throw you out of this building, and I will personally hire the private investigators who will put you in a cell right next to your mother."
May you like
Nolan stood up slowly, knowing with absolute certainty that every bridge, every memory, and every door had been burned to ashes. He turned and walked out of my office, his head bowed, a broken man with nothing left to his name.
***
