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John sat in his office in Le Marais. Outside, footsteps echoed off the narrow street. A siren, a pin-pon, sang on Rue Rivoli. Rather than tackle what was in front of him, he stared at the beautiful stone wall, washed in light, and reflected on the French news program he’d watched in his chambre de bonne the night before.
François Hollande had made a speech on Les Champs Élysées. John had lived in France long enough to begin considering him as his President, too. And to think of him, the way the French did, as indecisive and too easily influenced. From the expression on Hollande’s face, it appeared as though he was always asking the world, “What should I do?” Like most politicians, he’d do what the people with the most money said to do. So the French had nicknamed him Flanby, a brand of packaged flan. When you open the container, turn it over and dump the flan onto a plate, it shakes. It comes with caramel on top.
John tore his attention off French politics and looked at his latest business balance sheet. Anjali had printed it out for him. And his personal one, which he had somehow managed to print out himself. He had deducted what the IRS might say he owed and had set aside money for the lawsuits sure to come from former clients. He stared at his new bottom line. He was just a hair above broke.
He couldn’t maintain illusions of keeping anything he had worked so hard to acquire. Not even the Grey Skies? He would emerge from this with his father’s cufflinks, if he were lucky.
As he sat on his small, uncomfortable chair, and leaned his elbows on the scarred desk, the foundations of his world were stripped bare. What had he spent his life’s energy on? Why had he believed so deeply in making money and acquiring things? The rotten ruins of his life gaped open, shards of mirrors laying around, exposed to the sky, worthless to build on. It had all been in vain.
When his father had caught sight of it, he had given up. John wanted a better ending to his story. He had tried to make it happen,
calling and calling for new business. He was a pariah in the investment world. He no longer knew what to do.
