Did they just expect him to walk into the office in thirty-two days with the same spit and vinegar he’d had before? To have the same drive and tenacity that had helped him to turn the modest multi-million-dollar company he’d inherited from his father into the multi-billion-dollar juggernaut it was today?
Well, if they were counting on that kind of performance, they were in for a rude awakening.
Harcourt wouldn’t hesitate to work hard and with dedication and do his best to be a competent leader, but that was as far as he could go. He could never be the man he was before. He couldn’t let himself be that man again.
How could he?
He brushed his teeth and spit into the sink, scowling into the mirror.
He’d never be the kind of man who put his drive for wealth and power ahead of his family ever again. That man had destroyed everything he held dear. How could he even think of walking in those shoes again?
Everyone said that the plane crash was a tragic accident—that it wasn’t his fault. But Harcourt knew better. It was his blind ambition that had sent them to their graves. He was responsible for what happened and he would never forgive himself. Never.
And no one was ever going to change his mind on that subject.
Taking a deep breath, and after giving himself another dirty look in the mirror, Harcourt decided to take Molly’s advice and shave off his beard. The least he could do was look the part.
He ran water in the sink until the water began to warm up. He splashed his face and applied shaving cream with a brush to his beard. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He turned off the water and walked over to the French doors, opening them wide to let some fresh air into the room. His eyes traveled over the trees that surrounded his property and up into the sky. It had been a long, dry summer, but there was humidity in the air and clouds forming out in the east. He hoped there would be some rain. They could certainly use it.
The call of an osprey in the distance pierced the silence of the day. He loved the grand birds. He scanned the sky and the tree tops on the ridge where ospreys and bald eagles often perched, but he didn’t see it.
His watched beeped at the quarter hour, reminding him that he didn’t have much time. Leaving the doors open to continue to cool off the room, he went back to the sink and picked up the razor.
Outside the osprey called again, sounding much closer, as if right outside his window. Intrigued, Harcourt put down the razor and walked back to the balcony, spotting the magnificent bird of prey almost immediately. It was perched on a stripped branch near the top of the tallest pine growing in the center of his circular driveway. The osprey turned its head and seemed to be looking directly at him.
The osprey expanded his white chest, opened its beak and called out to the sky. Too-ooh, too-ooh, toooo-ooh. With the mournful bursts of sound, a chill ran through Harcourt, raising hairs on the back of his arms. Was that supposed to be a sign? Harcourt shook his head in disbelief. He didn’t need to worry if he could do the job. He didn’t need to worry about returning to work in thirty-two days. He didn’t need to return to work ever.
“Thank you,” Harcourt said as he applauded the great bird. The osprey cocked its head in Harcourt’s direction, scoping him out with his beady eye. Unimpressed, the bird lifted his great black wings and soared effortlessly away, over the trees and towards the sea.
Harcourt returned to the sink with a skip in his stride, his head up, and eyes sparkling with newfound purpose. He stared at his face as he picked up the razor. He’d not shaved for several weeks and he had the start of a fine-looking beard. He’d intended to shave it all off for the conference call, but why bother? He didn’t need to impress anyone, and he’d always wanted to grow a beard. After rinsing away the previous application of shaving cream, he swirled the brush back in and this time applied his shaving ritual to cleaning up the areas where he didn’t want to grow his beard, specifically his neck.
He pondered his new plan, liking it more and more with each cleaning swipe of the blade. It was so simple. He’d announce that he was stepping down, that he’d decided to retire from business, because why the hell not? He certainly didn’t need the money. His success had been so spectacular that even if he never worked another day in his life, or never invested a penny of the billions he’d accumulated, and he’d still have more money than he could ever hope to spend in his lifetime.
But working will help you forget, will help you occupy your thoughts, will help you move on from the tragedy.
“Shit,” Harcourt said as his razor nicked a spot near his Adam’s apple. He let the razor fall into the sink and grabbed a towel to stop the bleeding. Cursing again, he waited for the bleeding to stop. He finished his shaving and put a piece of tissue on his wound while he considered the cons against retiring, casting doubts on his new plan.
Perhaps going back to work would make sense. Perhaps going back to my old life will be the only chance I have to put the past behind me.
Stronger voices inside Harcourt’s head began to drown out the idea that he had any right or deserved in any way to move on. Like a preacher knows that someday a parishioner will steal from the collection plate, Harcourt knew with a certainty that if he ever became “that man” again, the kind of man who could abandon and ignore his family the way that he’d done—then it would be no different than betraying Sharon and Cedric all over again.
He’d made up his mind.
Harcourt finished his ablutions and dressed quickly into his business attire. Then he sat down at his desk in the bedroom, pulled out a notepad, and wrote down the key bullet points for his resignation announcement, which he intended to give to Peter Talbert as soon as the video conference call was over.
Eyes wide and glowing, Harcourt hurried downstairs and settled himself in his chair in front of the computer as he reached for Molly’s instructions. His whole body hummed with anticipation, as if he couldn’t believe that he was going to go through with the new plan. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to sit through the whole meeting with a straight face. In less than an hour, he’d be done with Raymondson Industries forever, and done with being “that man.” Good riddance.
Chapter 3
Sabrina
I broke every speed limit on the way to the ferry, but managed to arrive just in the nick of time. After following the attendant’s directions to the bottom of the ship, I parked my car, turned off the engine, then put on the emergency brake as instructed by all the signs.
I locked my car and leaving everything inside except my purse, I went up to the top deck and straight to the bow of the ship. It was already underway, heading out into the Georgia Strait toward Vancouver Island. I’d never been on a boat before and I was excited, telling myself that I should stay out there the whole time and not miss anything.
But visibility was crap, and the wind relentless, so I gave up and headed down into the ship. I walked around until I found a seat far away from yelling children. I dug through my big, white purse looking for my phone.
“We’re here,” announced the text from Jeannette.
I let out a small sigh of relief, and started to reply, “I made the ferry,” but when I tried to send, it wouldn’t go through. Not enough bars.
Frustrated, I was about to put my phone away when I noticed there was a voicemail pending. “Oh, shit,” I blurted as soon as I saw that it was from an unknown number. My first thought was that it had to be my client, the billionaire dude who kept his cell number private, calling to tell me not to come…