Bankruptcy

Ray stood up from his desk and tried to make some sense of the situation. Those three clients made up over half of the money he held under management, and therefore over half of his annual income came from their accounts. Without that income, he’d never be able to pay for the house he was building for himself now that his soon-to-be ex-wife was taking their home, nor would he be able to keep his new car. He absentmindedly picked up a small brass statuette of a bull and bear and ran his hands over the skillfully carved likeness.

How could this have happened without warning? How could I have heard no ounce of warning on these bankruptcies? This just doesn’t happen!

In his rising anger, he hurled the statuette across his office into the glass that made up the wall facing the interior of the building. The statuette hit the wall with a loud SMACK! and bounced back onto the floor, leaving a large spider web of cracks in the glass where it had hit. One of the other brokers’ assistants had been walking by with a cup of coffee. She was stopped in shock, staring into Ray’s office, her eyes wide in surprise. He said nothing to her, but stared intently into her eyes. She quickly hurried off down the hall, not wanting to confront Ray in such a mood.

"I’ve got to get out of here!" Ray hissed to himself. His breathing felt labored and felt the need for fresh air.

He didn’t bother to take his coat or even log off his computer. He simply grabbed his car keys from his desk, stalked out of his office and slammed the door behind him. Interns, assistants, and brokers hurriedly got out of his way as he moved deliberately for the elevator.

"Hey, Ray!" Called a man’s voice, "Tough news on Burson Systems today. Thank Goodness we got that memo from the research department last week, huh?"

Ray turned his head as he walked, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Jacob Stynes, one of his closer friends in the office, trying to follow.

"Go screw yourself, Jacob." He growled. Jacob stopped following him.

Ray took the elevator to the parking garage and sat down in his brand-new Porsche 911. He stared for a moment at the steering wheel before taking a deep breath to calm himself. His cell phone rang from his pocket before he got the keys to the ignition. He checked the caller ID, and saw the name "Jackson, Fred" in the display. Another client, and another one heavily invested in Burson.

He flung the phone form his car window as he started the engine and violently pushed the car in gear. Without bothering to check for any oncoming cars, he tore out of his parking space like a man on a mission and sped through the garage as fast as his car could handle the tight turns.

In a few minutes, he was on the interstate and leaving the city. Despite the overcast skies and wet roads, his car clung to the pavement like glue even at these high speeds. He had no particular destination in mind; he just had to get away.

The next two hours passed him by as if he were in a dream. He couldn’t remember much of the passing minutes, except that he simply kept driving as if in a daze. Shaking his head to snap himself back into wakefulness, he noticed the fuel light on his dash was lit, meaning he was nearly running out of gas. He looked ahead of himself down the road for the next exit. The interstate bent this way and that, and was lined with heavy trees, blocking his vision after more than a few hundred yards and no exit was in sight.