Chapter 8 - The Aftermath
At 2:30 p.m., the two freight moving trucks pulled away from the curb, their heavy diesel engines echoing down the street as they drove away with $1.5 million pesos worth of salvaged property.
I stood beside my pickup truck, putting my leather folder back into my work bag.
The cul-de-sac was silent now.
The neighbors across the street were still standing on their porches, whispering among themselves, pointing at the gaping hole in the front of Margaret’s three-story Mediterranean villa.
Daniel stood in the middle of his empty driveway, wearing his dirt-stained t-shirt and sweatpants, staring blankly at the dark, hollow opening where his mother's grand front entrance used to be.
He looked completely broken—a man stripped of his ego, his wedding, his home's luxury, and his dignity in less than twenty-four hours.
He slowly walked down the gravel driveway toward my truck.
"Emily..." Daniel said, his voice quiet, hollow, and utterly drained of fight. "What... what am I supposed to do now?"
I opened my car door and climbed into the driver's seat.
I looked down at him through the open window.
"You have three options, Daniel," I said calmly.
"Option one: You can take out a personal bank loan and pay Miller Design LLC $1.5 million pesos to buy back your furniture and fixtures."
Daniel swallowed hard, knowing his credit score and salary wouldn't qualify him for a ten-thousand-dollar loan, let alone ninety thousand.
"Option two," I continued, "you can let your mother use her spiritual tarot cards to manifest a new kitchen and a front door."
Daniel’s face flushed with deep, agonizing shame.
"And option three?" he whispered, his eyes filled with tears.
May you like
"Option three," I said, starting the engine of my truck, "is that you learn some humility."
I put the truck in drive, pulled away from the curb, and drove out of the cul-de-sac without looking back in my rearview mirror even once.
