Chapter 25
Everett
By four a.m. I'm in the car. By four-thirty I'm parked outside her building, engine running, going nowhere.
She's not here.
Or she is, and her car is parked somewhere I can't see, and she's inside sleeping or crying or hating me, and I have no right to knock on her door and demand answers when I'm the one who destroyed everything.
I force myself to drive away.
My office, my former distraction of choice. Six-fifteen according to the lobby clock. Security waves me through.
When my assistant arrives at seven-thirty, she finds me already buried in merger files. Her expression shifts when she sees me.
"Mr. Lockwood. I didn't expect…" She stops. Regroups. "Can I get you anything?"
"Margot Bennett's schedule for today." The words scrape my throat raw.
She hesitates. "I can check with HR."
When she returns, phone in hand, expression careful. "Ms. Bennett is taking some personal time. She's not expected in the office today."
The floor tilts. I grip the edge of my desk.
"Did they say when she'll be back?"
"The request was approved through end of week. No return date specified."
End of week. More time of this gnawing absence. More days of not…
"Thank you." I dismiss her with a nod. "Close the door."
I reach for my phone. Dial Margot's number. It rings four times. Voicemail.
"It's me." My voice sounds foreign. Stripped. "Call me. Please."
I end the call. Stare at the screen. Type out a text.
Margot. I need to talk to you. Please.
Send.
***
The board meeting convenes at ten. Lenora Harrow presides from the head, flanked by senior members. Grant Sutherland sits three chairs down, watching me with barely concealed satisfaction.
He smells blood in the water.
"Gentlemen. Ladies." Lenora's voice could freeze steel. "Let's discuss some of the final details left on the Hartwell timeline."
I should be focused. Presenting the strategy I spent months perfecting. Instead, I'm cataloging every way I failed the woman who walked out of my life.
"Everett?" Lenora's tone sharpens. "Your thoughts on the revised offer?"
I blink. The room swims back into focus. Faces turned toward me, expectant.
"The revised offer is weak." The words come out without filter. Brutal. "We're giving away leverage for the illusion of goodwill. They need our diversification as much as we need their stability and foreign markets. This isn't negotiation. It's surrender."
Silence.
Grant clears his throat. "The revised terms reflect reasonable compromise…"
"Reasonable." I cut him off. "You call a twelve percent reduction in our equity stake reasonable? You call extending the timeline another six months reasonable?" My jaw tightens. "This isn't compromise. It's capitulation."
"Everett." Lenora's warning carries weight. "Perhaps we should…"
"Perhaps we should stop pretending this merger is worth destroying ourselves for." The words rip free before I can stop them. "We've compromised on every point. Given ground on every negotiation. At what cost? When do we admit we're paying too much for too little?"
The room goes silent. Board members turn and stare at me. Some shocked. Some calculating.
Grant leans back in his chair, arms crossed. Satisfied. "Interesting perspective from someone who's been championing this deal for months."
"My perspective has evolved." I meet his gaze. "Maybe yours should too."
"Maybe your personal life is affecting your professional judgment." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "We've all noticed the... distraction."
Heat flares in my chest. My hands curl into fists beneath the table.
"Gentlemen." Lenora's voice cuts through the tension. "I think we need to table this discussion. Reconvene later in the week when everyone's had time to review the revised terms with clear heads."
Clear heads. The implication lands hard.
"Fine." I stand. Gather my files. "Schedule it whenever you want. My position won't change."
I'm out of the conference room before anyone can respond.
***
The rest of the day dissolves into emails I barely read and calls I shouldn't take. My assistant knocks twice, receives dismissive answers both times. At seven p.m., she pokes her head in one last time.
"Mr. Lockwood, I'm heading out. Is there anything…"
"No. Thank you."
The office empties around me. The cleaning crew arrives at nine. I pack my briefcase, drive home to an empty building, climb the stairs to the guest suite.
Her things are gone.
The room still contains the basics I provided. The bed made with military precision, towels folded in the bathroom, everything in its place.
All her personal items have vanished.
She's not coming back.
***
Thursday morning breaks gray and cold. Rain streaks the windows. I sit at my desk nursing coffee, staring at merger valuations and projections that might as well be written in ancient Greek.
My phone sits silent. Accusatory.
She's a playwright. She writes stories. Creates worlds where people find each other, lose each other, fight their way back.
What if I spoke her language?
I pull up a blank screen. Stare at the cursor blinking against white.
THE LOST KNIGHT A Tale in One Act
SCENE: A dark forest. Not the picturesque kind from fairy tales, with dappled sunlight and singing birds. This forest is older. Deeper. The kind where travelers lose themselves and never find their way home.
Enter: THE KNIGHT. Armor tarnished with a heavy sword at his side. He has been wandering for so long he's forgotten which direction he came from.
KNIGHT: (to the trees, to himself, to no one) I was searching for something. A quest, they called it. Noble and worthy. The kind of thing knights are supposed to do.
(He pauses, looks around at the pressing darkness)
I can't remember what I was searching for anymore.
(Beat)
All I remember is the walking. One foot in front of the other. Day after day. Year after year. Until walking became everything.
(He sinks onto a fallen log, removes his helmet. Underneath, his face is lined with exhaustion.)
VOICE: (offstage, bright as unexpected sunrise) That's a very dramatic way to say you're tired.
KNIGHT: (stands, hand going to sword) Who's there?
Enter: THE PRINCESS. Not the tower-locked kind or waiting-to-be-rescued kind. She wears practical clothes and carries a lantern.
PRINCESS: You've been wandering in circles for three days. I've been watching.
KNIGHT: You have?
PRINCESS: Yes. I've been curious.
(She approaches, holding the lantern higher. The light catches his face. She studies him with eyes that miss nothing.)
You're not dangerous. Not really. You're just very, very lost.
KNIGHT: (defensive) I know exactly where I am.
PRINCESS: Do you?
(Silence. He doesn't answer.)
PRINCESS: I thought not.
(She sets the lantern on the ground between them. Sits on the log he vacated. Pats the space beside her.)
Sit. Rest. Stop wandering for five minutes.
KNIGHT: I can't. I have to…
PRINCESS: You have to what? Keep walking until you collapse? Until the forest swallows you whole? (gentler) Knights don't have to be in motion to matter. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is stop. Look around. Admit you need help finding your way.
(He stares at her. This strange, practical princess who appeared from nowhere with her lantern and her directness and her complete lack of fear.)
KNIGHT: (slowly, the words dragged from somewhere deep) I don't know how.
PRINCESS: To stop?
KNIGHT: To ask for help. To admit I'm…
(He stops. The word sticks.)
PRINCESS: Lost?
(He nods. The armor suddenly weighs a thousand pounds.)
KNIGHT: I've been walking alone for so long. I forgot there was any other way.
PRINCESS: (stands, picks up the lantern) Well. Lucky for you, I happen to know this forest quite well. All its paths. All its secrets. (She offers her free hand) Let me show you the way out.
KNIGHT: (looking at her hand, hesitant) Why would you help me?
PRINCESS: Because everyone deserves a guide when they're lost. (Beat) Because I've been lost too. I know what it costs. I know what it takes to find your way back.
(The Knight stares at her outstretched hand and her lantern casting warm light against the darkness. At this Princess who sees his exhaustion and doesn't demand he hide it.)
(Slowly, he reaches out. Takes her hand.)
KNIGHT: What if I can't find my way even with your help?
PRINCESS: (gripping his hand firmly) Then we'll be lost together. Which is infinitely better than being lost alone.
(She pulls him to his feet. The lantern swings between them, light dancing across their faces.)
PRINCESS: Come on. There's a clearing not far from here. The stars are visible there. We'll start by remembering what direction feels like home.
KNIGHT: (following, her hand still in his) I'm not sure I remember where home is.
PRINCESS: (over her shoulder, smile in her voice) Then we'll find it. Together.
(They exit into the darkness. The lantern's light grows smaller, then disappears. But the forest no longer seems quite so frightening. No longer seems quite so endless.)
(The darkness, for the first time in a very long time, holds the possibility of dawn.)
THE END
I stare at the document. Written in two hours without stopping. Without thinking. Without the usual corporate precision that governs every word I commit to paper.
It's rough. Melodramatic. Probably terrible by any objective standard.
And it's the truest thing I've written in years.
My finger hovers over the mouse. Send to Margot's email? Too formal. Too easy to ignore.
I pull out my phone. Copy the text. Paste it into a message.
I hit send before I can talk myself out of it.
The message delivers. I set the phone face-down on my desk. Can't watch it. Can't bear the waiting.
***
At four p.m., my assistant appears in the doorway. "The reconvened board meeting is scheduled for tomorrow at nine. The Hartwell reps are now attending via video conference."
"Thank you." I don't look up from my screen.
"There's also…" She hesitates. "There's talk of arranging an in-person summit to clear the air. Europe, possibly Paris. The Hartwell Group executives and our board. To repair some of the recent things with the merger."
I lean back in my chair. Stare at the ceiling. Paris. An in-person summit. High stakes negotiations with board members who already question my judgment and merger partners who sense weakness.
The merger I've spent months cultivating. Divisions of the company and our employees futures depending on the success of these final details.
All of it feels distant. Unimportant. Like watching someone else's life through frosted glass.
"I've said it before. Whatever it takes to close this deal."
***
Friday morning arrives gray and merciless. The board meeting starts at nine.
I'm ready, notes prepared. Expression composed into the mask I've perfected over years of corporate warfare.
The video conference connects. Faces fill the screen. Board members in New York, Hartwell executives in Connecticut. Their European subsidiaries from London, Paris, and Rome. Everyone wearing polite masks over barely concealed concern.
Lenora speaks first. "Gentlemen. We're here to address the tensions from Monday's meeting and determine a path forward for this merger."
I brace myself.
The next hour passes in a blur of carefully worded accusations and corporate diplomacy.
My outburst on Monday created some doubts.
Made the Hartwell Group question whether Lockwood Industries has the stability to be a reliable partner.
Whether previously agreed to valuations are now being questioned.
"We need assurances," the Hartwell CEO says at last. His face fills the screen, gray beard and steel eyes. "That your team is unified. That this merger has full support at the executive level. That we are not about to begin renegotiating what we have already agreed to."
All eyes turn to me. Waiting.
I could salvage this right now. Apologize. Smooth over the tension. Promise unity and stability and whatever platitudes they need to hear.
Instead, I hear myself say, "The merger has my support. You have my word."
The words sound hollow even to my own ears.
"Very well," Lenora says. "We'll finalize these last arrangements and reconvene. We are close enough to finalize signing details."
The call ends. My screen goes dark.
I sit in the silence of my office. Stare at the reflection in the black monitor. The man looking back seems older than he did a week ago. Harder. More lost.
My phone vibrates against the desk.
I grab it.
A text. From Margot.
I didn't know you could write.
She read it. She responded.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Who said you could call yourself a knight?
It's a beginning. And right now, beginning feels like everything.