Chapter 6 #2
Beyond the gate, a hundred yards out into the pitch-black water, the hull of the final ferry was already pulling away. Its massive engines rumbled with a deep vibration, churning the dark water into a frothing white wake as it slowly turned its bow toward the islands.
"Hey! Stop!" I shouted, my voice cracking. I sprinted up to the fence and grabbed the cold metal wire with both hands, rattling it violently. "Stop the boat!"
A dockworker in a reflective safety vest was walking away from the slip, holding a glowing orange baton. He turned around at the sound of my voice. His brow furrowed in confusion as he saw a man in a rumpled designer suit desperately pulling at the locked gate.
He walked over slowly. His posture was casual, completely unaffected by the sheer, unadulterated panic radiating off my body.
"Terminal's closed," the dockworker said. His voice carried easily over the sound of the wind and the departing engines. "That was the last boat of the night. We don't open the gates again until tomorrow morning."
"You need to call them back," I demanded, slipping instinctively into the commanding, authoritative tone that moved billions of dollars in capital across international borders. "My wife is on that ferry. I have to get on that boat. Lower the ramp right now."
The dockworker let out a tired laugh and hooked his thumbs into his canvas belt. "Are you kidding? I can't call the boat back. It's already disconnected from the slip and under power. They're gone."
"I am Reid Mitchell," I said. My voice rose, the desperation bleeding openly through the cracked edges of my authority.
I reached for my back pocket and pulled out my wallet with shaking hands.
"I am the CEO of Mitchell Energy. I will pay you ten thousand dollars right now, in cash, to radio the captain and bring that vessel back to this dock.
I will charter the entire ferry for the night.
Name your price. Whatever the state wants, I will double it. Just get the boat back here."
I pulled a platinum credit card from the leather fold. I held it out through the diamond-shaped holes of the fence, my eyes wide and frantic, begging him to understand the transaction.
The dockworker didn't reach for the card. He didn't even look at it. He just looked up at me.
The expression on his face wasn't awe. It wasn't greed. It wasn't respect for my position or my wealth.
It was pity.
"I don't care if you're the Governor," the dockworker said.
His voice dropped into a quiet, heavily patient tone, the kind of voice you use to explain a harsh truth to a child.
“Or even the President. We’ve got a schedule to keep and no fancy pants CEO can change that.
You're going to have to wait until tomorrow. "
He turned his back on me and continued walking toward the small, illuminated tollbooth office. He left me standing completely alone at the gate.
I stared after him, my arm still awkwardly extended. I was holding a piece of plastic with a limitless credit line that was entirely worthless.
For the first time in my adult life, my money, my genius, and my absolute authority meant absolutely nothing. I couldn't leverage a negotiation. I couldn't buy out the competition. I couldn't delegate a task to a consultant and have the problem magically vanish.
The physical reality of the world had drawn an impenetrable line, and I was on the wrong side of it.
I let my arm drop. The platinum card slipped from my numb fingers and clattered uselessly against the concrete.
I gripped the fence and pressed my forehead against the cold wire.
The cold wind tore across the open water.
It whipped through my hair and chilled the sweat on the back of my neck.
I stood there, entirely powerless, and watched the bright lights of the ferry slowly disappear into the consuming blackness of the night, carrying my wife further and further away from me.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
The sudden vibration jolted me. A desperate, impossible hope flared in my chest. I ripped the device from my slacks, praying to whatever God was listening that she had seen my missed calls and was reaching out to me.
I looked down at the screen.
It wasn't Gwen.
It was a flood of text messages. The notification center was filled with names I knew intimately, names that represented the empire I had chosen over my marriage.
Victoria Albright
Contracts secured in the safe. Press release finalized for 8 AM. Congratulations, Reid. We changed the world tonight.
Jeremiah Davidson
Incredible execution on the Tacoma acquisition, Reid. The stock is going to soar on the opening bell.
Lewis Kearney
You did it. The supply chain is officially locked. Enjoy the victory.
I stared at the white text glowing on the screen.
The words that should have filled me with ultimate pride, the culmination of years of sacrifice and brutal, grinding work, felt like acid burning my eyes.
My stomach heaved. A physical wave of nausea crashed over me, so intense I had to drop to one knee on the concrete, bracing one hand against the pavement as I gasped for air.
I dropped the phone. It landed face up next to my discarded credit card. The screen continued to light up with notifications of my supreme corporate victory, casting a faint, sickly glow on the ground.
Kneeling on the cold concrete in the middle of the empty terminal, the catastrophic realization of what my tunnel vision had cost me finally settled over my shoulders, heavy and suffocating.
I had spent years conquering the world. I had fought, bled, and sacrificed every piece of my humanity to build an impenetrable castle.
I had convinced myself, with every late night and every broken promise, that I was building it for her.
I believed I was constructing a fortress to keep her safe, to elevate her, to give her a life entirely free of worry or want.
But I was so completely blinded by the architecture of the empire that I hadn't realized I was building the walls without her.
I had locked her outside the gates. I had finally conquered the world, but as I looked out into the terrifying, empty darkness of the water, I realized that I had entirely lost the only thing that actually made the world worth conquering.
And now, kneeling in the freezing wind, separated by miles of dark water and a chasm of my own arrogant creation, I couldn't even reach her to tell her I was sorry.