Chapter 11 - The Fall of Brad
While Sarah’s world was crumbling under the gavel of the law, Brad Coleman was discovering that conning people in Colorado was significantly more dangerous than manipulating an insecure housewife in the suburbs.
In late March, Brad’s slick persona hit a brick wall at the Denver International Airport.
He was waiting at the gate for a flight to Scottsdale, Arizona, wearing his cashmere sweater and designer leather luggage at his feet, when two uniformed officers from the Pitkin County Sheriff’s Department, accompanied by an investigator from the Colorado Division of Securities, walked up behind him.
"Bradley Coleman?" the lead investigator asked.
Brad turned around, flashing his rehearsed, telegenic grin. "Officers! Is there an issue with my flight clearance?"
"Turn around and put your hands behind your back, Mr. Coleman," the deputy said, unclipping a pair of steel handcuffs.
Brad's smile instantly vanished. "Whoa, whoa! What is this about? I haven't done anything!"
"You're under arrest for multiple counts of grand theft, wire fraud, and operating an unlicensed securities offering," the investigator stated, clicking the cuffs around Brad's wrists in full view of two hundred waiting passengers.
It turned out Brad’s "high-yield luxury resort investment fund" was nothing more than an elaborate Ponzi scheme. For three years, Brad had been taking buy-in checks from wealthy divorcées and gullible suburban investors, using new money to pay for his ski passes, rented luxury cars, and five-star dinners.
When Mark had abruptly canceled the corporate accounts in Aspen and refused to absorb Brad’s eight-thousand-dollar suite damages, Brad had panicked. In an effort to cover the hotel debt before the resort filed criminal fraud charges, Brad had attempted to forge a promissory note using Sarah’s suburban home address as collateral.
When the title company attempted to verify the deed, they discovered the foreclosure notice already filed by Mark’s attorneys. The entire house of cards collapsed within forty-eight hours.
The local Chicago evening news ran the story under the headline: *FORMER SUBURBAN CHARMER INDICTED IN MULTI-STATE MOUNTAIN RESORT FRAUD.*
Madison saw her biological father's mugshot plastered across the television screen at the local public library where she went to do her homework. Brad looked pathetic—unshaven, his thinning hair unstyled, and his dead, selfish eyes staring blankly at the booking camera.
Sitting at the wooden library desk, Madison didn't cry.
May you like
She simply closed her laptop, walked out into the chilly spring afternoon, and threw the gold necklace Brad had given her three years ago—which she now realized was cheap gold-plated brass—into the municipal trash can on the corner.
***
