Ugh!... Adam moaned. He looked out the window into the sky.
"Heh" figures of course there is no moon.
It was a moonless night. Apparently the world seemed to agree with him that loneliness was his only companion. He gazed at the table top and standing there as if to remind him more of his fate was a lone bottle. The bottle was empty.
Adam stared at it for a while, how long, he couldn't say, before setting it down with the others. Three? Four? He'd lost count somewhere around the second bottle, when the edges of the room started to blur and the ache in his heart dulled due to intoxication.
The apartment was dark. He hadn't bothered with the lights. Hadn't bothered with much of anything, really. The dim glow from the street outside filtered through the open window, casting long shadows across the floor. It was enough to see by. Enough to navigate the plethora of empty bottles and takeout containers that had accumulated over the past few days.
Enough to sit in the dark and pretend the world outside didn't exist.
He reached for another one, another bottle. His hand hesitated over the cap, some distant part of his brain suggesting this might be a bad idea, then twisted it open anyway. The drink hiss softly without a care in the world. He took a long drink, letting the bitter taste wash over his tongue.
It didn't help. Nothing did.
Three days ago, everything made sense.
Three days ago, he'd had a company. A future. People he trusted.
Three days ago, he'd been whole.
The memory flashed before his eyes. He had thought about that day and the days before that to see what could have been done differently, changed to generate a different outcome.
That was all he could think about, *The Memories*
The conference room was same as it always was, Floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the city, glass so clean it was almost invisible. Polished mahogany table that stretched nearly the length of the room, its surface reflecting the overhead lights like a dark mirror. Expensive chairs that cost more than his first car, the kind that adjusted in twelve different ways and were supposed to prevent back pain during long meetings.
The walls were decorated with minimalist art, abstract pieces in muted colors that probably cost a fortune but said nothing. Everything about the space screamed success, Professional and Established.
The kind of room that made investors take you seriously, that said you'd made it.
They'd celebrated when they'd signed the lease on this office. Popped cheap champagne in plastic cups because they couldn't afford the real stuff yet. Marcus had joked about finally having a "grown up" space. Lily had taken photos, posting them everywhere with captions about dreams coming true.
That felt like a lifetime ago now.
He had walked in thinking it was just another planning session. They did this every week, him, Marcus, and Lily. The three of them, hunched over laptops and whiteboards, always planning forward, thinking of the future before it cut up to us.
It was their company, Their dream.
Or so he'd thought.
Marcus had been sitting at the head of the table. That should've been the first sign. Adam always sat there, had from the very beginning, back when they were working out of his cramped studio apartment, surviving on instant noodles and ambition. It was his idea, after all. His pitch. His code that made the whole thing work.
But that day, Marcus was in his seat.
Not that he really cared about the seating arrangements anyways but what really gave it away was the fact that Lily wouldn't look at him.
She'd been sitting to Marcus's right, fingers wrapped around a coffee cup, eyes fixed on something just past Adam's shoulder. Not quite meeting his gaze. He'd noticed it immediately, felt the unease coil in his gut.
"Adam," Marcus had said, leaning back in the chair, Adam's chair, like he owned the place.
Maybe he did now.
"We need to talk."
Five words. That's all it took for Adam's world to start crumbling.
He took another drink, longer this time. The alcohol stinging in his throat while going down. He welcomed the sensation at least it made him feel something other than ...
"The board met yesterday."
Adam remembered the words with perfect clarity, even through the haze of alcohol. Remembered the casual tone Marcus had used, like he was discussing the weather. Like he wasn't about to detonate a bomb in the center of Adam's life.
"We've been discussing the company's direction. Where we want to go. How to get there." Marcus had folded his hands on the table, his expression neutral. Professional. "And we've come to the conclusion that we need to make some changes."
*Changes.*
"Ahh" but such a harmless word for what came next.
"We're restructuring the leadership team. Realigning equity to better reflect current contributions and future growth potential."
Corporate talk. Buzzwords and business jargon designed to obscure the truth.
But Adam had understood. The meaning was clear enough, even dressed up in polite language.
*You're out.*
"What?" The word had come out strangled. Disbelieving.
This had to be a joke. Some kind of test. Marcus was his best friend, had been since sophomore year of college, when they'd been randomly assigned as roommates and somehow clicked despite having nothing in common. They'd built this company together. Spent two years sacrificing everything to make it work.
This couldn't be real.
But Marcus's expression didn't change his words because of his question. If anything he cemented it with the distant and cold expression on his face that wasn't anything like what Adam has ever seen before.
"We've already filed the paperwork," he'd continued, sliding a folder across the table. The movement was smooth, practiced. Like he'd done this a hundred times before. "You'll be compensated, of course. Fair market value for your shares, plus a severance package. It's all detailed in there."
Adam had stared at the folder. Crisp manila. His name printed on a label in neat, impersonal font.
ADAM HART: SEPARATION AGREEMENT
"You can't..." He'd looked up, searching Marcus's face for some sign of the friend he'd known. Some hint of remorse or regret. "This is my company. My idea. I built this..."
"We all built this, Adam." Lily's voice cut through the room, sharp and final. She still wasn't looking at him. "And now it's time for it to grow beyond any one person."
Beyond any one person.
He'd turned to her then, this woman he'd loved. This woman he'd imagined a future with. They'd talked about it, late nights after work, tangled up in his sheets, dreaming out loud. The company would take off, they'd said. Change their lives.
Apparently, she'd meant without him.
"Lily, please..."
"It's business, Adam." Her voice was flat.
"We can't let emotions get in the way of what's best for the company."
Emotions.
The word had hit him like a physical blow.
Later, much later, after the shock had worn off enough for him to think, he'd realized what that meant. The phrasing. The careful distance she'd put in her voice.
They weren't just cutting him out of the business.
They were together. Marcus and Lily.
How long? Weeks? Months? Had it started before this, or was it a recent development?
Did it even matter?
Adam laughed. The sound came out bitter and broken, echoing off the walls of his dark apartment. He took another drink to wash the taste of it away.
Two years.
Two years of eighty hour weeks. Of pitching to investors who barely looked up from their phones. Of maxing out credit cards and eating ramen for dinner because every dollar had to go back into the company. Of believing, stupidly, desperately believing, that they were in this together.
He'd poured everything into this. His time. His money. His soul.
And they'd carved him out like he was nothing. Like he was a problem to be solved, an obstacle to be removed.
Efficient. Clean. Business.
The bottle slipped from his hand, hit the floor with a dull thunk. Alcohol spread across the hardwood in a dark puddle. He didn't move to clean it up. Didn't even look at it.
What was the point?
"You'll be compensated."
The notification had come this morning. A cold, automated message from his bank, devoid of sympathy or context.
DEPOSIT: $847,000.00
FROM: NEXUS HOLDINGS LLC
MEMO: SETTLEMENT FINAL
It sat there in his account now. Untouched. Accusatory.
Hush money. Go away and stay quiet and let us pretend you never existed money.
Eight hundred and forty seven thousand dollars.
A fortune to most people. Life changing money.
To Adam, it was an insult.
The company was worth millions. Would be worth tens of millions within a year if the projections held. He'd seen the numbers. Run the models himself.
They'd bought him out for pennies on the dollar and called it fair.
And he couldn't even throw it back at them.
The legal documents had made that abundantly clear. The settlement was final, non negotiable, already processed through escrow. They'd structured it so he couldn't refuse even if he wanted to. Probably anticipated that he'd try.
Smart. Thorough.
Final.
Just like everything else about this.
Adam leaned back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The room spun slightly, or maybe that was just him. Hard to tell anymore. The darkness pressed in from all sides, heavy and suffocating.
He should eat something. Shower. Sleep.
He didn't move.
Somewhere in the haze of alcohol and exhaustion, a thought surfaced.
One born from desperation, frustration and pain of having everything ripped from you.
I just want it to stop.
Not the betrayal. That was done, a fact now, unchangeable. Carved into him like scar tissue, permanent and ugly. He'd carry it with him forever, a weight that would never fully lift.
No.
He wanted the feeling to stop.
The crushing weight in his chest that made it hard to breathe. The way his hands shook when he thought about their faces. The hollow, gnawing ache that pulsed behind his ribs every time he remembered what he'd lost. Not just the company, but the people. The trust. The belief that the world made sense and people meant what they said.
I just want to stop caring.
The thought echoed in his head, desperate and pleading.
*Please....*
Just let me stop feeling this.
He cried
He closed his eyes.
The darkness behind his eyelids was absolute.