The rain had been falling since early morning, washing downtown Chicago in a dull gray shine while low clouds pressed down, turning the city into a mirror of exhaustion and unspoken sorrow.
Jonathan Miller stood beneath a flickering streetlight near the riverwalk, his wool coat soaked and heavy, breath uneven, tears running freely as if his body had finally abandoned restraint.
At forty three, Jonathan represented success in its purest public form, admired, quoted, and envied by people who believed wealth could shield a man from collapse.
He was the founder and chief executive officer of BlueCore Systems, a financial technology empire whose influence stretched across markets, headlines, and boardrooms on multiple continents.
The watch on his wrist cost more than many families earned in a year, yet it felt worthless as he leaned against cold metal, feeling smaller than ever before.
Exactly one year had passed since his former wife boarded a plane with their son, leaving without consent, explanation, or mercy, abandoning only silence and an empty bedroom.
Twelve months followed, filled with unanswered calls, delayed hearings, and lawyers who promised progress while billing endlessly, turning hope into a slow, methodical form of torture.
Every night ended the same way, with Jonathan staring at his phone, waiting for a video call that never arrived, convincing himself patience still meant something.
The board meeting with European investors had started thirty minutes earlier, yet ambition suddenly felt hollow, stripped of meaning by the absence of one small voice.
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