Chapter 15 - THE FLOOR THAT NEVER LOOKED NEW AGAIN
Fenwick Rowe terminated Ryan twelve days later for undisclosed outside business activity, misuse of company resources, false statements during an internal review, and conduct involving a client account belonging to a family member.
The firm notified the appropriate state and industry regulators. No one promised criminal charges. No one predicted whether Ryan would lose his license permanently.
Beacon Home Lending closed the fraudulent application and referred the file for further review. Megan’s condo was never encumbered.
The brokerage custodian restored no money automatically. Linda had signed the withdrawal requests, even if she had been manipulated about their purpose. Her attorney began pursuing civil claims against Ryan, Harbor Ridge, and Seaport Masonry Partners.
The Worcester properties remained unfinished.
Linda sold her Plymouth house before the next tax year, not because a judge forced her to, but because the taxes, maintenance, and mortgage no longer fit her reduced income. She moved into a modest one-bedroom rental near Paige in Quincy.
She entered counseling.
She also signed a repayment agreement for the damaged floor and paid Megan seventy-five dollars each month. The amount was small enough to feel almost insulting and steady enough to mean something.
Megan lost the wedding deposits. She returned the restricted twenty-seven thousand dollars to an attorney-managed restitution account for Linda. She ended the engagement in writing and arranged for Ryan’s remaining belongings to be collected through the building manager.
Ryan sent three apologies during the following months.
The first blamed panic.
The second blamed pressure.
The third contained no explanation at all.
Megan did not answer any of them.
By February, new oak boards replaced the warped section near the entrance. The contractor warned that matching aged wood was nearly impossible. Under afternoon light, the repaired area looked slightly paler than the rest.
Megan chose not to stain it darker.
She wanted the floor functional, not disguised.
On the first warm Saturday in April, Paige called from the sidewalk.
Linda was waiting across Commonwealth Avenue at a small café. She had been attending therapy for four months. She wanted fifteen minutes with Megan and had promised not to ask for forgiveness, defend Ryan, or discuss money.
Megan stood inside the open condo door.
In one hand, she held the old brass guest key Linda had returned through Paige. In the other, she held nothing.
Across the street, Linda sat alone at an outdoor table, her beige trench coat folded over the empty chair opposite her.
Megan stepped into the hallway and locked the condo behind her.
At the building entrance, she paused.
May you like
The pedestrian signal changed.
She slipped the brass key into her coat pocket and walked outside, but when she reached the curb, she had not yet decided whether to cross.
