It's late and Cary's office is dark but he can still hear his thoughts echoing off the walls
("You are days away from spending a decade in prison")
He stares out the window, a spectator in a world he no longer recognises. Two months ago, life was perfect. There was nothing, nothing he didn't have, nothing he couldn't achieve. His world was limitless.
It took him six years to reach his goals.
In the space of eight weeks, everything has changed
In fourteen days, he'll have lost everything.
He could handle losing the firm. Losing Kalinda. Losing his apartment. But disbarment? Losing the law forever?
He'll have lost himself.
Cary knows it might not come to this. Peter went to prison, he survived, he can still practise (Peter wasn't accused of being one of the biggest drug dealers in Chicago)
His whole career is built on the truth. Separating saints and sinners, appearances and reality. (but the lines have blurred and he's falling through the cracks)
Without thinking, his hands move to the glass bottle hidden in the depths of his gym bag. The clear, emptiness of the vodka beckons, an empty escape from this hell. Either way, in two weeks he'll be in a prison cell.
He'd much rather be there on his own terms.
"Cary?"
Diane's voice startles him, and his grip on the bottle loosens, remembering guilty, their harsh words earlier. Gritting his teeth, he murmurs an apology, hoping his eyes will says what his mouth cannot. She understands, but her gaze is drawn to the bottle, glistening in the darkness.
"Please tell me you haven't."
"No."
It comes across as immature, angry and he wonders if it's irritation that flickers across Diane's face or concern. Will, he could read. But her? Never.
The vodka stands between them, and he has a sudden urge to grab it, down it's contents, lose all control because then the waiting will be over and his life will be in someone else's hands. Diane walks over, her heels clipping on the floor, and makes the decision for him.
"I can't live a life less lived." The words fall out of him in a rush of panic and hurt mixed with frustration.
"You have everything to live for, Cary." Her voice is quiet, but the strength of her words echoes around the room.
There's silence again, and he wonders if he should have said more. Then again, he wants absolutes she can't give. Answers she doesn't know the questions to.
Diane turns and walks back towards the hallway, her painted nails flicking the light switch on so she can see the broken man who sits before her.
"Two weeks. Keep it together for two weeks and then we'll talk." She pauses before adding "And you can help yourself to the contents of my drinks cabinet."
Cary gives a hollow laugh.
On her way out, she stops in the building lobby, turning to the burly security guard half asleep on the night shift. With a crisp dollar note in his hand, he turns his view to the security monitor for the 26th floor.
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