Chapter 10 - The View from the Peak
The night air was cold, but it felt clean—crisp and refreshing against my skin.
I walked down the broad granite steps of the research center, my heels clicking rhythmically against the stone.
On either side of the steps, two tall bronze lanterns cast a warm, golden glow across the paved plaza. The rain from months ago was long gone; the stone was dry, solid, and firm beneath my feet.
I walked toward my new car—a sleek, dark blue electric sedan parked in the reserved Chief Director space near the front entrance.
Before opening the door, I paused and looked back at the building.
The Matthews Neuro-Regeneration Research Center rose high into the night sky, its five stories of glass glowing warmly from within. High above the main entrance, carved deep into the grey granite block, my mother's maiden name shone under the spotlight.
In my mind, for just a brief second, I thought of Thomas.
I knew where he was right now. He was sitting in a tiny, cramped one-bedroom apartment near the industrial train tracks in St. Paul, eating a cheap microwave dinner out of a plastic tray, staring at the television while the freight trains rattled his windows. He was waiting for his alarm to go off at five in the morning so he could catch two buses to his entry-level drafting job.
I knew where Vivian was—living in a tiny rented room, working as a retail clerk at a department store, her vanity crushed beneath the weight of minimum-wage reality.
And I knew where Haley was—working night shifts at a diner in Los Angeles, her dream of social media stardom evaporated into the harsh reality of rent payments and broken promises.
They had wanted a moment.
They had taken a single VIP ticket because they believed worth was something you stole, snapped in a photo, and posted for strangers to applaud.
They had taken their moment. It had lasted fifteen minutes.
And in exchange, they had lost everything.
I took a deep, clear breath of the cool winter air, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat of my heart in my chest.
I opened the door of my car, stepped inside, and settled into the rich leather seat. I started the engine, the silent power of the car humming to life beneath my hands.
I didn't need a VIP ticket anymore.
May you like
I owned the hall. I owned the future.
And as I drove out onto the illuminated boulevard, heading toward my warm, quiet home, I knew that the moment I had built would last for the rest of my life.
