OH, HENRY!
Henry Benson.
Hank to his friends...if he'd had any.
So already, we've established Hank as an outsider. He probably could've had friends if he weren't so particular about the friends he (would've) kept. He worked in finances and made enough money to retain a substantially well-endowed girl. He'd never tried the gay thing, he was just waiting for the one, as they say. Generally reserved was he in two words. Sure, he went out on weekends and got drunk and social, but he'd never felt the need to take anyone back to his rat's nest. He wasn't a pack rat, per se, just disorganized. He kept ill-kept records on potential terrorists, do-badders in his neighborhood and people who had pissed him off in one way or another. They occupied the rooms Hank didn't and waited for their date in court.
Late in the afternoon, one August day, he slit both wrists and died on the phone with his grandmother who suffered from Alzheimer's. She told the rest of the family that he had decided to move to Swaziland. No one looked into it and his firm replaced him.
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