Sandra's TIme

She felt that losing her broker’s license would have been bad enough. It felt personal. Of course, she could appeal. If the markets recovered, then the difference in market conditions would be more obvious. She had done everything in her power, but the money was just gone. They squandered it on unfinished construction, unemployment, and ruined materials. As the project went on, it was clear that half of the planned condominiums would never sell at the projected price. If they didn’t sell, the fees that paid for security and maintenance wouldn't be enough.

The sun was setting, and Sandra knew that she would never see her children again. By the time she was released from jail, twelve years minimum, they would all be different people. They no longer looked her in the eye. Mommy was a criminal; she did bad things. At four, six, and seven, her little boys saw things in stark contrast. They did not understand grey areas in life. Neglect did it all in; she could have saved the investors some money if she had canceled everything sooner.

Sandra ran an accounting firm into the ground during her divorce, and losing clients was criminal because she refused to cut anyone’s pay in an underperforming market. Real estate was just plain dead in the area. Residents were not upgrading their homes, and nobody was investing. Fees were out of control, and they weren’t getting results. A typical real estate listing added maintenance and security costs. When she had started in real estate, nobody was carrying properties long enough to worry about how long they had to mow the grass before that commission.

Stanley was filing for divorce and full custody, and would certainly get it. He also expected alimony from her retirement fund, but she didn't think they could take it from her. Stanley just glared at her from inside the car. The boys started to tear up, and Sandra was accused of intentionally upsetting the boys.

Sandra exclaimed, “You are the only one intentionally upsetting anyone, Stanley. Eventually people will stop feeling sorry for you when you have everything, do nothing, just like you really want — and they all see that you are still just a nasty asshole. Even without me, your favorite evil villain, you are really just a miserable bastard.” She thought of all the holidays, birthdays, and trips ruined by his exacting standards. Standards that he could never afford on his own, and it was always about money no matter what the argument was on the surface.

“I don’t know who all this drama is for at this point. I don’t care what you have to say about anything. I don’t care to take opinions from the incarcerated. You are really right where you belong. All of you brokers, adjusters, agents, and schemers are criminals to me anyway,” said Stanley.

Sandra, exasperated, responded, “I guess anyone that works for a living is a thief for you. God help my sons… I don’t know why I bother with talking to you, either; you are subhuman.” Stanley had actually testified against his own wife in the criminal trial. The civil proceedings failed even to suspend her license, but a criminal judge was sending her to jail.

As Stanley pulled away, her chest twisted with tension, and her heart raced. She could feel her blood rushing in her ears and felt that she might pass out. She’d had fainting spells from panic attacks before, in college. Some therapy and moderate medication helped then, but it was all tragically worse now. Seeing as she was not taking approved psychological medication at the time of arrest, the options for treating her discomfort were limited.

She noticed the sun’s descent in the sky was too metaphorical. She felt energy shooting through her limbs, which she recognized as the fight-or-flight response. She could neither fight nor fly. She could only report and do her time, file her appeal and do her time, and live in agony of how her sons may be without her… and doing time. The breeze blew, and it was turning cold. She broke out in a sweat, and her fingers and toes began to tingle.

The next thing that she knew, she was in a hospital bed, with a pile of paperwork in front of her. Prison intake paperwork- she was sure she was just in the infirmary pod. Her lapse in consciousness and panic attack had not removed her from her vile fate. Her lawyer had transferred some money to her account so she could order toiletries, shoes, et cetera. Seeing her little allowance made her angry, and she knew she was lucky to have it. She worked for fifteen years to earn the money for the home and family she really wanted.

She didn’t even care about real estate beyond her own front yard, but she thought that that was what made her good at her job. She would only go buy what her clients wanted. Their needs were her needs, and she had no opinions. In the investing world, she may as well have jumped off of a bridge. There is objectively good and bad real estate. Some of it just doesn’t make money sense.

She felt foggy, felt that they had drugged her, and suspected Haldol. It always made her uncomfortable. A constant urge to move until it wore off. She had found better medications years ago, but that was not her decision here.

She felt the pain in her abdomen, the tightness in her jaw, and hot tears spilled across her face. She heard herself wail at the loss of her sons as if she were in another room listening to someone else. It was all so hollow. Everything just sat in the air, all the misery, the angst. The unsettling and total loss.

She considered Stanley. Really considered him. It’s an amazing horror what a woman will allow a man to do to her life and soul with some moral and romantic excuses…