Chapter 1: Unexpected Changes

In this narrative, all names have been altered to protect the identities of those involved. The events recounted here are true, based on my best recollection and understanding.

Amid the struggles of launching a new venture, I discovered that Brett had purchased a new home. He reached out to me unexpectedly—something he had taken to doing more frequently—requesting my assistance with a project he was working on. I agreed to visit, only to learn that he had relocated to a new address.

The new place was a significant upgrade—a spacious beach cottage that had been expanded. It felt bare and still in the process of being settled, with boxes stacked in various corners and only essential furniture awkwardly placed in the middle of rooms. The walls remained unadorned, giving a glimpse into Brett's unpacking priorities. The dining table was ready, but without chairs, it displayed two pyramids of red cups on each end alongside some Ping-Pong balls. The kitchen seemed devoid of plates or cutlery, yet the counter was cluttered with half-empty bottles and shot glasses. I couldn't help but wonder how much of this chaos Brett attributed to his roommates.

He invited me upstairs to his bedroom, which was modestly sized, similar to his previous room, but included a sunporch he had converted into a makeshift office. His desk was overflowing with invoices and bank statements from his landscaping business. Nearby, a small table and chair served as an additional workspace.

Brett and George were both busy typing away, visibly relieved by my arrival. Brett asked me to fetch a chair from downstairs and settle in, as they needed assistance drafting a welcome email for new website sign-ups. After hauling the chair upstairs and arranging it in the cramped space, I powered up my laptop and began working. The synergy among us was palpable; I quickly entered a focused rhythm, with words flowing effortlessly. Though Brett and George occasionally offered suggestions, they largely allowed me to immerse myself in the task at hand. Before long, we had a polished email draft.

Once the creative fog lifted, I was taken aback that they had not already prepared something. I realized I was completely in the dark about the number of accounts on the website or whether they were generating any revenue. Brett was always vague about such details, exuding an air of confidence and success that easily drew me in, causing me to overlook critical questions like "Is the business operational?" or "What’s our budget for sustaining this project?" Despite these unsettling thoughts, I remained optimistic about the venture and trusted Brett’s business acumen—especially since I was benefiting financially and had no intention of jeopardizing that.

This work session also allowed me to spend more time with George, who seemed like a decent person. I was surprised when he invited me over a few days later. With little else on my agenda, I thought it would be beneficial to connect with one of the few individuals working alongside Brett.

George lived in his father's house not far from mine. Although I could have walked or cycled there, I opted for convenience and drove. When I arrived, he greeted me with a wide, somewhat anxious smile. The television blared One America News as a small black pug named Dennis barked excitedly, while George attempted to calm him. His father, an older gentleman with a weathered appearance, occupied a Lazyboy recliner, seemingly unfazed by the cacophony.

For context, this was early 2017, a time when the nation was still reeling from Donald Trump’s election as president. The atmosphere was tense, with many discovering unsettling truths about the prejudices held by those around them.

George introduced me to his father, who remained polite despite the disruption caused by the news channel. As George and I settled on the couch, he began rolling a joint while I engaged in small talk with his dad. Almost immediately, the conversation shifted to politics, fueled by the inflammatory content of One America News. George's father expressed his views on banning Muslims to combat terrorism, and I found myself gently pushing back. While I wanted to voice my disagreement, I recognized that I was a guest in his home and had just met him. Sensing my discomfort, George suggested we take the joint outside for a walk, which I gladly accepted.

Once outside, George apologized profusely for his father's comments. I reassured him it was not a big deal as he lit up. Curious about his life since high school, I learned that he had transferred to an alternative education program, which explained why I didn’t know him. He then revealed that he had spent time in prison during that period.

I was taken aback. George seemed so earnest and eager to please; it was difficult to reconcile that with a criminal past. When I inquired about his incarceration, he candidly shared that he and a friend had skipped school one winter day and impulsively decided to steal an elderly woman’s purse. She had tried to pursue them, slipped on ice, and was injured in the process. As a result, he faced charges of theft and assault against an elderly person, leading to a three-year prison sentence.

His embarrassment was evident. I took a puff from the joint and passed it back to him, encouraging him to move forward from his past mistakes. He managed a weak smile and expressed gratitude for Brett's opportunity, noting the challenges ex-convicts face in securing employment.

My enthusiasm for our project was tempered. While I believed in its potential, I appreciated the flexibility my current schedule provided, allowing me to juggle various endeavors, including client work, tutoring, writing, and managing my art website. George seemed astonished by my diverse commitments, and I encouraged him to discover his passions and pursue them. He appeared to appreciate the sentiment.

As we continued our walk, George dominated the conversation, reflecting on his aspirations. He had been working diligently for Brett, driven by the need to cover the mortgage after his mother's passing during his incarceration. I hesitated but ultimately asked about the circumstances of his mother’s death.

It may be inappropriate, but my instinct was to inquire about the "how." My heart went out to George; losing a parent at a young age is a profound tragedy, especially while being incarcerated. He recounted that his mother had simply laid down for a nap on the couch and never awakened, punctuating his brief tale with a shrug. It seemed he had reconciled with this cruel twist of fate. I offered my condolences, unsure of what else to say. He thanked me, and we continued our walk.

While our conversation seemed linear, I now recognize its circular nature. We oscillated between personal stories and discussions about our company—our opinions, tasks at hand, upcoming initiatives, and evaluations of Brett's performance. The business was a constant thread connecting our dialogue.

George's secondary favorite topic was his tumultuous relationship with his girlfriend, which caused him considerable stress. I mostly listened, offering advice when I felt it was warranted, but it was evident that the relationship was detrimental, and he would be better off alone. He understood this but struggled to find the strength to end it. I empathized; it's difficult to break free from someone who drains your spirit.

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