Adrian.

The taxi pulls up in front of a stone house surrounded by green fields that stretch as far as the eye can see. Adrian gets out slowly, carrying a single suitcase—the only one he could bring—and stands motionless for a few seconds, staring at the place as if waiting for someone to confirm there's a mistake. One week. That's all it took for his life to completely unravel. First came the headlines. Then the lawyers. Then the silence of the people who swore they were his friends. His father's fortune, built up over years right before his eyes, turned out to be a Ponzi scheme that had ruined hundreds of families. Richard Whitmore was arrested on a Tuesday morning, and by Thursday the name was synonymous with fraud throughout England. The properties were seized. The accounts, frozen. Sophie, his girlfriend, stopped answering without even bothering to offer an explanation. Adrian couldn't entirely blame her—he would have done the same thing once upon a time, and that was the most uncomfortable thing to admit.
His mother made the decision without consulting him. "You need to leave London. The grandparents have space." That was it. There was no discussion.
He hears the sound of a hen nearby and closes his eyes for a second. Nineteen years surrounded by everything. Chauffeurs, staff, private schools, parties where the problem was choosing which one to go to. And now this. He picks up his suitcase with one hand and stares at the farm gate, still not moving.

"Great," he murmurs softly, to no one. "Just great."