Chapter 115 The cost of Gold
Through the cool marble of the foyer came the soft decisive click of the front door and there was a silence deeper than any sound Carson had left behind.
He left without turning around but the house seemed to hold its breath waiting for him to come back.
Every step was an escape as his leather shoes crunched on the driveway’s gravel.
It felt more like putting on armor than dressing when he shrugged the suit jacket onto his shoulders.
In his hand the briefcase swung loosely still weighed down by the unread merger proposal.
He crossed the large deserted lawn and sliced through the well-kept hedges. The world seemed subdued like a watercolor painting washed by the waning light of the late afternoon.
The chilly bars of the wrought-iron gates which he approached were a tangible representation of the cage he was escaping.
After just a brief pause he pushed them open and emerged onto the public street. Here the air was distinct—richer with the smell of damp earth and exhaust alive with the distant hum of traffic.
As if he could outrun the scene in the kitchen he began to walk quickly and frantically.
In his mind he saw Bridget leaning against the counter, her poise unwavering her judgment of him—”You were being weak”—a blistering truth.
He was appalled not by the broken glass but rather by the knowledge that his rage and feeling had been completely pointless to her.
His mental anguish had been reduced to a careless mess that needed to be cleaned by the housekeeper.
He paused beneath an oak tree that was spreading its branches weighed down by the final fall foliage.
He rested against the coarse bark. He muttered to the fading sky.
“She doesn't give a damn.” He muttered.
The discovery was not unexpected. Beneath the layers of his ambition, the icy truth had always been there.
He had witnessed the trade, the giving up of his title and time in return for safety and authority.
He had recently persuaded himself that all he needed was a working relationship and that Bridget had accused him of having a weakness in love.
He pulled out his phone. Once again, his thumb lingered over Annabel's number.
His tongue still ached from the genuine apology, the one in which he acknowledged that he had pursued gold bars rather than real life.
But he hit the back button.
“It doesn't change anything now.”He said.
Carson understood that the peace he had destroyed was something he would never be able to provide again.
He strolled on, walking through peaceful affluent residential neighborhoods. Set back behind tall walls the magnificent homes were all monuments to a life of well-planned success.
The empire that his mother and Bridget's family were constructing was built on these homes.
He was supposed to be the main pillar. He had never felt such a keen piercing loneliness since he had first parted ways with Annabel months before.
The suburbs quietly pressed in sharply highlighting his own loneliness.
He missed the carefree laughter of a life long since gone. His inherited wealth felt more substantial than any poverty he had previously disdained.
He finally ended up at a modest unassuming coffee shop in a strip mall which was totally out of character for him.
The bitterness of the plain black coffee he ordered was a welcome reminder of reality.
He pulled the briefcase onto his lap while seated at a little table by the window. Unclasping the leather he gazed at the heavy bound documents within.
The proposed merger between Crown Financial and St. Regis Development. Just looking at the names made me feel obligated.
This was his future neatly bound and condensed into legalese and market forecasts.
He recalled the small silver ring Annabel had treasured. She had loved it because it was his genuine offering not because it was expensive.
The massive solitaire diamond that he had purchased for Bridget served only as evidence of his credit limit and as a stand-in for the cost of their future together.
He was aware that the ring was merely a gleaming instrument, a frigid contract made in a safe.
It was worthless with no soul or memory.
A new wave of embarrassment was the contrast. He had decided on a course in his room and knew what he had to do.
According to his mother's wishes he had to enter the golden cage and act like a man. But the lack of freedom and the cages atmosphere were oppressive.
He got up leaving the briefcase on the table unopened.
He tossed a few bills onto the coffee table and muttered “I need to breathe.”
He needed people who didn’t know his name or his responsibilities, a loud bar and a strong drink perhaps.