Chapter 8 - The Desperate Pleading
Two days after the swift, merciless eviction, Andrew Vance found himself sitting on a sticky plastic chair inside a dismal, fluorescent-lit diner on the outskirts of Queens, nursing a cup of lukewarm, bitter coffee.
His custom tailored suit was gone, replaced by a rumpled dress shirt with no tie. His hair was uncombed, and the dark circles under his eyes told the story of forty-eight hours without sleep and zero answers.
The door chimed, and a familiar, desperate figure rushed in—Brenda. She looked frantic, her makeup smudged, wearing an oversized hoodie that starkly contrasted with the designer dresses she used to demand.
"Andrew! Thank God you're here," Brenda hissed, sliding into the booth across from him. "My apartment lease is canceled, my credit cards are permanently declined, and my parents locked me out of their house. We need to fix this. You need to call Mariana."
Andrew let out a hollow, bitter laugh, staring down into his coffee cup. "Call her? With what phone, Brenda? My cell was shut off yesterday morning when the corporate line collapsed."
"Then go see her!" Brenda urged, slamming her palm onto the formica table, drawing a dirty look from the short-order cook behind the counter. "Grovel! Beg her! Tell her it was all a mistake, that your mother forced you to do it, that you still love her! You're her husband!"
"I was her husband," Andrew corrected bitterly, his voice dropping into a hollow whisper. "Yesterday, I went to the Escalante Tower downtown. I thought if I could just get past lobby security, if I could look her in the eye and remind her of the last four years... she’d soften."
"And?" Brenda leaned forward, her eyes wide with frantic hope. "Did you see her?"
"I didn't even make it past the revolving doors," Andrew said, his expression turning pale at the memory. "Two federal marshals intercepted me before I set foot on the granite floor. They handed me a restraining order signed by a federal judge, accompanied by a notice of default for every personal debt I’ve accumulated since 2022. If I come within five miles of Mariana Escalante again, I won't just be broke—I'll be sharing a cell with white-collar criminals."
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Brenda slumped back against the vinyl booth, the last remnants of her bravado shattering completely. "So... we're ruined?"
"We aren't just ruined," Andrew said blankly, staring out the greasy diner window at the gray New York traffic. "We never existed to her at all."
