Consequences

to sleep. When she awoke in the morning, he was gone.
    On May 12, a Sunday, Catherine informed Claire that she and Mr. Rawlings would be eating on the back patio. The temperature had steadily increased and the backyard was vibrant with color, intense shades of greens, ruby reds from the red bud trees, and pure white from the dogwood trees. Anthony employed groundskeepers that had been busily planting thousands of annual flowers in the gardens, beautiful clay pots, and flowing hanging baskets. The pool was recently opened with ever-flowing fountains. At night they produced a colorful light show that changed the water from clear to pink to blue to green to red and back to clear.
    Claire remembered the day because as they sat to eat Anthony asked her if she had swum in the outdoor pool yet, it was heated. After so much time following his rules and being incarcerated inside, her bravado failed her, she started to cry. Her reaction obviously surprised him. Through muffled tears Claire replied, “This is the first time I have been outside in two months. I didn’t think I was allowed to go outside.”
    If he had been moved initially at her emotional response, he quickly recovered. “Yes, that is correct. I do know exactly how long it has been since you have been outside.” His voice resumed the authoritative tone she despised. “And I am happy to see that you still remember who is in control of your access to additional privileges.”
    Claire nodded her head ever so slightly to indicate yes, she understood. Anthony cleared his throat. She looked into his eyes trying to blink the tears away from hers. “Yes, I understand. But I truly love being outside.”
    “Surely you are smart enough to figure this out,” Anthony teased.
    Confused and upset by the loss of her falsely perceived equality, she said, “I’m not sure what you mean.”
    “Claire, I am an important man. I have hundreds of thousands of people in hundreds of companies that depend upon me for their livelihood. I balance a lot on my plate. Being observant to your wants and whims is not on my priority list. If you want to go outside, ask.”
    The simplicity startled her and the reality made her ill. She was an adult and she was asking permission to go outside. Her memory seemed foggy, but she couldn’t recall doing that since she was maybe ten or eleven. It was one of his tests. Would she surrender to his authority or would she refuse and spend the summer inside? If she surrendered was it really submission or was it her way of controlling the situation? The internal debate continued for such a short time.
    “Anthony, may I please leave the house and go outside?”
    “You may be outside. Do not leave the property without me or my permission.” His tone continued, but Claire’s only concern was his meaning, “Remember to be available to me whenever I am here. Therefore, no wandering the grounds if I am present. And you must be in your suite at five each evening for instructions. Can you follow these rules?”
    “Oh yes, I can.” It may still be a prison, but it had just multiplied in size.

 
Greed, for lack of a better word is good   .   .   .
Greed in all its forms for life, for money, for love,
for knowledge has marked the upward surge of mankind.
—Gordon Gekko, Wallstreet
     Chapter 7
    The cloud of smoke levitating near the suspended ceiling created a haze, making the florescent lights appear dim within the small office. Nathaniel clenched his teeth while analyzing the figures. Since taking the company public, the numbers showed profits. The stock continued to grow, and industry reports were favorable. Rawls Corporation was in the black. And considering the current economic climate of the seventies, that was good. The problem is Nathaniel Rawls doesn’t want good. He isn’t content with black. He wants more, a lot more. The sound of the furnace blowing warm air created a hypnotizing hum. He leaned back, took a long draw on his cigarette, and rubbed his temples. How could he make the figures in the profit column multiply? Hell, others are doing it. He wanted to too.
    Punching the black button on the small box, he said, “Connie, get Samuel in here now.”
    The crackling voice responded immediately, “Yes, sir, Mr. Rawls.”
    Samuel entered the small paneled office inhaling the suspended cloud. The sight of his father hunched over the books and spreadsheets meant only one thing: he was in for the “ We can do better ” speech. “Yes,