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"Yes Lauren, I understand. I'll be there at seven pm sharp." Maximillian said ending the call.
They had planned on visiting the specified locations of 'Project 182', but first, they needed to obtain the actual locations. And now that they had them, the plan was finally active.
Pride swelled in his heart at the mere thought of success. Money. The saying goes 'money is the root of all evil', when in his mind that was simply false.
Money provides you with choice, decision, opportunity. In that aspect of life, your mind is busy worrying about competing in a game you have a choice to take part in. It gets you anything, anywhere even anyone. Money gives you happiness, joy, laughter, fun. Money is elation.
The emotion felt with money -tonnes of it- is better than that of love. Love drives you to the edge. It makes you make mistakes. It makes you hurt. It makes you envy. It makes you sad. It makes you angered. The most irritating part of that pathetic emotion is that, you never have a say in any of it. Your emotions control you. Consume you into some lovesick idiot.
And that's how Maximillian was... Five years ago with his darling Emilie.
Picking up a hammer from his dark oakwood desk draw, Maximillian started to smash the burner phone he used to call Lauren. With every hit came satisfaction. It was as if he was destroying the thoughts of his dead wife. And the love she gave him.
The phone was now completely and utterly destructed: its wires sprung out, bent in every which way; its screen was cracked into shards of plastic; and the buttons were smushed, unidentifiable.
Loosening his vice grip, he put away the hammer and got up from his squatting position.
Maximillian's mahogany double office doors were slammed wide open. The hinges shivered and the door knobs bashed into his office's walls, on the verge of denting them.
His eyebrows furrowed in confusion and frustration.
"What was all that noise?" His delinquent of a step-child walked in, looking as dishevelled as ever. The usual.
Maximillian reluctantly answered while dusting his suit pants off, "Nothing of your concern Christian."
Christian rolled his eyes about to walk out of his office, but his step-father's words stopped him. Enraged him. "Two new pieces of info: number one I leave tonight at six pm, as for the next eight weeks I will be abroad for...business matters. And number two, you are picking your two favoured dresses for your bride, argue on this and there will be consequences." Before hearing the end of his speech Christian wanted to retaliate. It was his instinct - to display his opinion. But he knew how far Maximillian's consequences went. He knew just the extent he would go to make a point. He knew.
"You can't take anymore people away from me, I'm alone, remember. Just how you like." His grin contradicted the disconsolate rage and piercing pain his eyes held. A deep deep pain, similar to the pain Maximillian felt 1825 days ago.
"She will do the same, as in pick her preferred suits for you." He ignored the dim remorse and guilt he felt for what he did to his step-son three years ago. In this world, nothing was fair. You either play to win or to loose. Attachments are the disadvantages. Time will eventually rid of them and only you can make the choice to rid them.
He never got that option, he had it chosen and decided. Landon Jefferson was the attachment in Christian's life. The block to his pathway for future success.
His door was banged shut again by Christian, he left mutttering a trail of profanities in both english and the Korean his mother had taught him.
The glass cabinet that encased all types of expensive alcohol and an unopened array of Montecristo cigars, realed Maximillian in. Calling for him. Yearning to be lighted. Needing to be drank.
His office, a varse cube, filled with clouds of smoke, as the bitter aroma of Jack Daniels lingered in the atmosphere.
●•●•●•●•●
DEAR MY SWEETEST EMILIE, I'm sincerely sorry, I have unfortunately succumbed to your disfavours. The man I have become without you, is a man you would loathe, never the man you'd love.
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