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145  Feelings Of Victory

There I was in Clarisse's office, sitting because honestly, I didn't know if I could stand.

All I could do was stare at the tv in her office, watching as the news reported Charles Harrington suicide. They speculated on what could have caused it and no one missed the most obvious reason.

The words kept resonating in my brain. 'Depression at the loss of family legacy.'

I gritted my teeth, wondering just what was this city's obsession with legacy. No matter what I did, my mind kept replaying the last time I saw him.

The way his anger had boiled over, his threats, the desperation in his eyes. And now, he was gone.

And I just know that whatever resulted in this, I had a hand in it.

"He didn't seem like the kind of man to kill himself." I muttered, more to myself than to Clarisse.

Across from me, she continued sipping her wine, completely unmoved by the news. "I disagree. Men like Charles don't accept failure well. He lost everything, Nico. What else was left for him?"

I clenched my jaw, running my hand through my hair in frustration. "Still... I can't shake the feeling that this wasn't just about losing the company. We backed him into a corner, Clarisse. We stripped him of everything."

"His pride, his dignity, his company," I paused, "and his legacy."

Clarisse set down her glass and leaned forward. "You're getting sentimental." She said. "You came up with the plan and you executed it." She pointed out. "You did what was necessary and that's not a crime. The end always justifies the means."

I looked at her, trying to find a shred of empathy. Something to indicate that this wasn't just another work day for her. There was none. She was as ruthless as she'd always been, and for the first time, I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

Was this how my other sisters would be? Will I be able to compete with them in ruthlessness?

I exhaled, running my hands over my face. "What if he didn't kill himself?" I asked. "What if someone pushed him over that railing?"

Clarisse didn't even blink. "Then they did us a favor."

Her words sent a cold shiver down my spine and I exhaled sharply, pushing myself up from the chair. "I need some air."

She didn't stop me as I left.

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Driving through the streets of New York, the lights felt too bright, and the city too loud. I should have been celebrating, enjoying the success of my plan coming together, but all I felt was... nothing.

Just hollow.

I couldn't help but wonder just why I had even come back to New York in the first place. Had getting back at Charles really been that important?

I couldn't even remember anymore.

I pulled over at a red light and let my forehead rest against the steering wheel for a moment. Was this what winning at all cost felt like? I had fought so hard to get to this point, but now that I was here, I couldn't ignore the emptiness I could feel in my gut. It was a deep pit of unease that I just couldn't shake.

By the time I reached the Newton estate, I still had no answers. I parked and made my way inside, dragging my feet as I walked. It felt like just doing that was a ton of work.

As I walked toward my room, a familiar voice stopped me. "You look like hell."

I ran a hand through my hair. "Yeah."

13:39

I looked up to see Jenny leaning against the wall, her arms crossed. Her eyes roved over me, assessing. "I'd have congratulated you," she said, "but given the circumstances, I'll save it for later."

I ran a hand through my hair. "Yeah."

She sighed, stepping closer. "Look, whatever you're thinking, you didn't push him. You didn't force him over that balcony."

I scoffed. "Didn't I? If we hadn't dismantled his entire world, would he still be alive?"

Jenny held my gaze, her voice softer now. "Charles didn't kill himself."

I stilled. "What?"

"He was definitely pushed." She said. "I don't know who did it, but I know it wasn't a suicide."

I wanted to believe her. Maybe I even did. But it didn't change the fact that I had set off the dominoes that would result in this outcome.

Jenny placed a hand on my arm. "You can't carry this, Nico. You did what you had to do."

I nodded, but I didn't say anything. She seemed to sense I wasn't in the mood for more words and let me go.

As I entered my room, I walked to the window, staring out at the carefully manicured garden. A minute later, I returned to my bed.

It felt like there was no air and what I was breathing was designed to suffocate me. It was like no matter what I did, I couldn't escape from the blood on my hands.

I sat on the edge of my bed, running my hands over my face. The room felt too big, too empty. My mind churned with thoughts I didn't want to entertain, images of Charles standing on that balcony, my imagination showing me a clip of the moment of his fall replaying over and over in my head.

Sleep never came that night. I tossed and turned, staring at the ceiling, listening to the silence of the night and the ticking of the clock on the wall. Every second felt like a hammer driving a nail deeper into my skull.

By morning, I had come to a conclusion of my own. @@novelbin@@

Charles was dead and there was nothing I could do about it.

No matter what actions I had taken, I hadn't been the one to kill him.

This probably wouldn't be the first or last time someone would die from actions I have made but that doesn't make me responsible for their death.

If he committed suicide, he was the one who killed himself. If someone pushed him, that person killed him. Either way, it had nothing to do.

Even with that, I knew I couldn't stay here.

New York had become a graveyard of my decisions, and I needed to get out before it swallowed me whole. I pulled out my phone, opening my contacts, scrolling down to my pilot's number.

It was time to leave.