Death Inc.

Chapter 3

As graduation approached, Dan's determination to make a difference intensified. Dan and I grew up in Ohio, a state that prided itself on its heartland values and fierce independence. So, when Dan landed an internship with the Ohio governor, a man known for his strong stance against government overreach, it felt like the perfect opportunity for him to make a difference.
Governor Allen Cartwright was a charismatic leader with a privileged background, yet he had a way of connecting with the everyday citizen. His platform was built on a foundation of limited government intervention, particularly opposing the recent mandates to include life-extension vitamins and additives in food. He saw it as a gross overstep, an affront to personal freedom. Dan admired his convictions and saw in him a mentor who could help him achieve his own goals.

Initially, Dan's role in the campaign was modest. He started as an intern, doing the menial tasks that every campaign needs: distributing flyers, managing schedules, and handling correspondence. But it didn't take long for Governor Cartwright to notice Dan's sharp intellect and leadership skills. The governor began to give him more responsibilities, eventually promoting him to a position on the speechwriting team.

"Dan," the governor said one evening, after reviewing a particularly compelling speech Dan had written, "you have a real gift. You're not just writing words; you're crafting a vision. If we win this, I want you on my team with a seat at the table. Maybe even more than that someday."

The promise of a significant role in the future president's cabinet electrified Dan. He threw himself into the work with even more fervor, attending late-night strategy sessions, drafting speeches that articulated Cartwright's vision, and meeting with influential senators and politicians who shared their views. These connections were invaluable, broadening Dan's network and deepening his understanding of the political landscape.

Our personal lives, meanwhile, moved forward as well. Dan and I decided to get married, a decision that felt both exciting and inevitable. Governor Cartwright himself officiated our wedding, a grand event that solidified Dan's place within the political elite. As I walked down the aisle, my heart swelled with love and pride. It wasn't until the reception that I also felt a hint of apprehension about the path we were embarking on.

Life on the campaign trail was intense. The constant travel, the late nights, the endless strategizing—all of it took a toll. I supported Dan, but my involvement was more peripheral. I had my own aspirations, and the lifestyle of politics was not something I enjoyed. The smoky backrooms, the superficial social gatherings with other political wives—these were not my scene. I longed for a quieter life, a family.

"Dan, I want to have a baby," I said one night, my voice soft but firm. "I want to start a family with you."

Dan hesitated, the weight of his ambitions pressing down on him. "Rachel, I love you. I don't know if it's right to bring a child into this world right now. The way things are going... it's just not the right time."

I nodded, though disappointment gnawed at me. "I understand. But it's hard, Dan. I feel so out of place in this world. I miss us, the way we used to be."

Dan wrapped his arms around me, trying to reassure me. "I know, and I'm sorry. This is important. The work we're doing—it could change everything. It could make this a world worth bringing a child into."

Despite my reservations, I stood by him, though the tension between us grew. I resented the superficiality of the political life, the constant schmoozing and the shallow conversations. To me, it seemed as though Dan thrived in that environment, while I felt like a victim of circumstances beyond my control.

The campaign reached its peak, and we threw everything we had into it. Dan believed in Governor Cartwright's vision wholeheartedly, and the governor's speeches, many of them penned by Dan, resonated with a significant portion of the electorate. But in the end, it wasn't enough. Cartwright lost the election by a narrow margin, a defeat that left us reeling.

Dan was devastated. The loss was not just a professional setback; it was a personal blow to his ambitions and beliefs. In the aftermath, as we sat in the quiet of our apartment, Dan's frustration bubbled to the surface.

"Politics is nothing but a stage," he said bitterly. "Loud ideas, lots of noise, but no real action. It's all about power and influence, and it moves at a snail's pace."

I listened, my heart aching for him. He had put everything into the campaign, and now he was forced to confront the harsh realities of the political world. But even in his disillusionment, I could see the wheels turning in his mind, the spark of a new idea forming.

He said, "If you really want to make a difference, you need money. Business is where things actually happen."

It was during this time of uncertainty that Dan conceived the idea that would ultimately shape our future—and the future of countless others. With his knowledge of psychology and his connections in government, he began to formulate a plan, one that would address the growing concerns of overpopulation and the ethical dilemmas posed by extended lifespans.

"Hey Rach," he said one evening, his eyes alight with a mix of excitement and resolve. "I've been thinking a lot about what Dr. Ellsworth had to say. What if we could offer a solution to those who no longer wish to live extended lives? What if we could provide a service that allows people to choose when and how they want to die, with dignity and peace?"

I stared at him, a mixture of shock and curiosity washing over me. "You mean... euthanasia?"

He nodded, his expression serious. "Yes. But not just euthanasia. A business that offers end-of-life services to those who want it. It would be voluntary, regulated, and humane. It could give people control over their own lives and alleviate the burden on society."

My heart pounded as I considered his words. The idea was radical, controversial, and fraught with ethical challenges. But as I looked into Dan's eyes, I saw the same determination and passion that had drawn me to him in the first place. I knew that he truly believed in this vision, and I felt a surge of support for him.

"It's a bold idea, Dan," I said slowly. "But if anyone can make it work, it's you. I'll stand by you, no matter what."

With that, a new chapter of our lives began. Little did I know then how far Dan's ambition would take him, or the moral compromises that lay ahead. But in that moment, my love for him was unwavering, and my belief in his vision was absolute.

Over the next few weeks, Dan began to pivot. He reached out to the contacts he had made during the campaign, leveraging those relationships to explore new opportunities. He started to research the burgeoning field of end-of-life services, inspired by the ethical debates we had encountered during the campaign. It was then that the seeds of his future empire began to take root.