Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 42461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 212(@200wpm)___ 170(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 212(@200wpm)___ 170(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
“I’ll have your mail forwarded whenever you give me an address, Mr. Peterson. There weren’t many possessions to put in storage from the penthouse, so that’s already done as well.” Shelly ticked off the to-dos on her legal pad. “I rented you a 4WD SUV for your trip and the company car’s been checked in.”
“Thank you, Shelly.”
It was sad that after two decades of busting his ass, he had nothing to show for it but a closet full of expensive suits and designer shoes in the firm’s penthouse. Royal didn’t even have his own car, sentimental mementos, or family heirlooms to take with him.
“This is the last of the boxes, Shelly. See that they’re added to the storage as well.”
“Yes sir.”
She thought he hadn’t seen her roll her eyes but he did, and he didn’t care.
The news of his sudden resignation had hit the office like a two-ton wrecking ball. No one knew what to make of it. He’d walked in and said two words to his bosses that weren’t his usual “good morning”. Instead, he shocked the fuck out of them, and gritted out with exhaustion…“I quit”.
He thought he’d be at Global Crown Financial for the rest of his life, but the lifestyle had become too much for him.
Now he was burnt out at the age of forty-five.
When it came down to it, Royal didn’t have what it took. He couldn’t become, or rather stay, a corporate drone.
The partners at Global Crown all looked the same—balding, permanent frown lines, devoid of smiles, and hunched over from never leaving their desks. They all spoke the same—the language of statistics. They even smelled the same, the men reeked of Dial soap and Old Spice, and the women smelled like bars of Ivory and Estée Lauder.
“All right you guys, I’m outta here.” Royal walked from behind his desk and paused in front of the two people who’d worked for him the longest. “I wish you both all the happiness in the world.”
Joel scoffed as if he were disgusted. “I’d rather have all the success in the world.”
Royal grimaced. “Of course.”
He’d once lived by that same motto. He’d worked sixteen-hour days and neglected life and especially himself to climb the corporate ladder. Little did he know that when he got to the top, there wasn’t shit there.
Royal waited a second, but when it was clear neither were going to offer a handshake, hug, or wish him good luck, he eased past them and left.
He didn’t glance back when he nodded to the doorman and walked out onto the busy Manhattan Street.
He waved down a cab, and it took less than five seconds for one to pull up to the curb where he stood.
He got inside and sat back with a long, relieved sigh.
“Where to?” his driver asked without sparing him a glance.
“Enterprise car rental on 126th.”
Royal could already feel the boulder that had had permanent residence inside his chest began to lighten.
Royal split the eight-hour drive to southern Maine between two days. He’d decided to take his time to see what it felt like not to rush for a change.
The city was far behind him now, the towering glass and concrete of Manhattan becoming a distant memory and so was the man who’d thought he was thriving amongst the chaos. Now all that remained was the stress and regret from his burnout. He beat a restless rhythm on his steering wheel wondering how long his body would carry the residual effect of years of anxiety.
The interstate into Maine had been long, winding through the last vestiges of fall, as bare tress that leaned away from the wind gave way to thick snow blanketing the ground.
It was about eight-thirty in the evening when Royal took the exit to Windeville— population seventeen hundred—and the world seemed to shift. The entire town revealed itself like a secret he wasn’t prepared to learn. It was small, really small.
Several dozen houses sat off a single main street, while some were scattered in the surrounding mountains.
The streets were empty—except for a lonely snowplow trailing down the narrow lane—and it wasn’t even nine o’clock.
What the hell?
Royal looked side to side, checking his rearview, as if people were going to suddenly appear out of nowhere.
But there was nothing. No one was clamoring around annoyed pedestrians on cluttered sidewalks, there were no horns honking, or sirens blaring, and the silence bore down on him so intensely it frightened him.
The town was bathed in a golden glow from the garland-wrapped street lamps. And the houses were really houses, not towering buildings crowded with three-hundred square foot apartments renting for four thousand dollars a month.
The quaint cottages and humble ranch-style homes’ windows were illuminated with warm lighting and had smoke curling from chimneys in a way that made them radiate with life.
“Are they using actual firewood,” he murmured. “What in the…where the fuck am I?”