The husky, deep, baritone voice coming through the ear piece did. “Now Claire, we’ve been through this before. It is customary for one person to respond to the greeting of another. I said, good evening.”

“Hello,” she managed, finding her voice. It was difficult to allow her voice to exit while keeping her food down.

“Very good. I thought perhaps we would need to review common pleasantries.” Tony’s voice was smooth, strong, and domineering. She closed her eyes and saw him, looming near the fireplace in her suite. It wasn’t the Tony Rawlings she married. Her vision was of Anthony Rawlings, her captor. The time and place continuum shattered. She was no longer with her friends in a bustling restaurant; she was three years in the past. Visions played like Tony’s surveillance videos behind her closed lids as her body trembled.

Forcing her eyes to open, she searched for her friends. She fought to inhale as she sought desperately through a dense fog. Faceless people spoke. Their voices were a background din to the deep voice in her ear. Her head shook in response to her ex-husband’s comment. The movement was so slight that without the movement of her hair, it would have been unperceivable. Conversely, inside she shook vehemently. No, I can talk, review isn’t necessary.

Swallowing the overwhelming mixture of emotions and food fighting the natural peristalsis, she summoned a stronger voice. “Good bye, Tony.”

“Claire, you should know, I learned of your release less than twenty-four hours ago. As you can hear, I already have your telephone number. How long do you think it will take for me to learn your location?”

Sitting straight and squaring her shoulders she found strength. It was a strength she’d always possessed, but in the past it was used to keep Tony pacified. Today she used it to declare her thoughts. With each word, her voice gained resilience. “It seems you have lost the ability to perceive meaning. Good bye means this conversation is over. For the record, that includes future conversations. I’m sure you remember, once a discussion is closed, reopening it is not an option.”

The response came in the form of a laugh, a deep, resonating laugh, and then words. “I have always admired your strength. Such a brave speech from someone hiding across the country…” Claire didn’t hear any more. She removed the phone from her ear and hit END. The fog of isolation lifted; she saw the saucer sized eyes of her concerned friends.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be in the restroom.” Claire stood, “If you see the waiter, I believe I’m ready to leave.” She walked away from the table before her friends could voice questions. Halfway to the bathroom the trembling resumed and tears escaped her eyes. Nevertheless, not until she was inside the stall did she allow herself to take a ragged breath. Unintentionally, an audible sob seeped from her chest.

Again her purse vibrated. She needed to look; it could be Emily. The screen read Blocked Call. It stood to reason, if Emily were getting her own disposable phone, a blocked number wouldn’t be necessary. Claire hit ignore. Thirty seconds later the symbol indicating a text message appeared. Hesitantly she opened it. ONLY I CLOSE DISCUSSIONS. THIS ONE IS STILL OPEN. I LOOK FORWARD TO RESUMING IT IN PERSON…

I guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. And maybe we'll never know most of them. But even if we don't have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there.
― Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Chapter 6

1980...

Anton made his way to the lower level of his family’s estate. The scene he just witnessed between his grandfather and father ran in a continual loop through his mind. With each step toward the entertainment center of the mansion, he tried desperately to forget his family and think about life back at Blair Academy. More than anything he wanted to be back on the campus of his boarding school, away from the charade he called family.

It wasn’t like he had many good friends at Blair. It would be easier if he were part of a group, if he participated in extracurricular activities. Heaven knows his stature benefitted him in the area of sports. He continued to grow taller and broader each year. Anton enjoyed intermural lacrosse and basketball. The coaches watched his obvious talent and asked him repeatedly to join one of the Blair teams. And, although his refusal met animosity from fellow students, little did they realize, it wasn’t his choice. The other boys thought he was too stuck-up to participate. The truth was, grandfather forbid participation. Of course, Anton didn’t admit that to anyone. If he did, it would show others he wasn’t allowed to make his own decisions. That wasn’t something Anton was willing to reveal. Go ahead -- think Anton Rawls was a jerk; he didn’t care. He would make the only man whose opinion mattered proud. Besides, he would show those other boys one day.

Nathaniel never experienced the benefits of a private education. He wasn’t able to offer that luxury to his own son. Now, he expected his only grandson to reap the benefits only money could buy. Nathaniel expected Anton to succeed. To Nathaniel, academics should be Anton’s only focus. Therefore, it was.

Well, except for Anton’s past-time of following his family’s company. Anton may only be fifteen, but he could read financial reports, follow the NASDAQ and Dow Jones. He understood investments and could dissect quarterly reports. He never discussed this with anyone. His father treated him like a child and would never take Anton’s thoughts seriously. His grandfather was too busy to discuss business with a fifteen year old. Anton yearned for the day when he was the one on the other side of the desk, discussing profits and losses with his grandfather. Someday, Anton knew -- Nathaniel would see him as his greatest asset.