Chapter 88: You’re rich.

Chapter 88: Chapter 88: You’re rich.

The streets had thinned out by the time Garrett and Freya left the university grounds behind. Most of the students had already scattered toward their apartments, buses, cars, or whatever other responsibilities waited for them outside campus. The evening was quieter than it had been an hour ago, and for once Garrett wasn’t in a hurry to get anywhere.

Freya walked beside him, occasionally kicking at small pieces of gravel on the pavement.

"Poor Daniel," she said after a while. "He seemed really out of it."

"Head injuries do strange things."

"Still. I’ve never seen him stammer like that." She glanced at Garrett. "Kind of endearing, actually."

"Endearing?"

"Yeah."

"You’ve known him for ages."

"Exactly. That’s why it was weird."

Garrett almost smiled. There was something almost impressive about how completely Freya had missed the actual reason behind Daniel’s behaviour. Garrett knew. He had known for a while.

Daniel liked Freya, and not in the vague way people sometimes liked someone because they were attractive or fun to be around. Daniel had actually told him. Garrett had listened, given him whatever advice he could without making the situation worse, and left it at that. It wasn’t his secret to expose, especially not when Freya clearly hadn’t figured it out herself.

"He’ll be fine," Garrett said.

"You think so?"

"Probably."

"That’s very reassuring."

"I try."

Freya gave him a sideways look. "You really don’t, you know."

"Don’t what?"

"Try."

Garrett frowned. "That’s harsh."

"It’s accurate."

She smiled and kept walking. For a few seconds, neither of them said anything. Then Freya looked him over.

"You’re different."

Garrett glanced down at himself. "Different how?"

"Everything." She gestured vaguely at him. "Your clothes, for one."

Garrett looked at his shirt. "They’re clothes."

"Very observant."

"I try."

"You’ve used that one already."

"Efficient."

Freya laughed. "Remember when you swore up and down you could actually cook, and I fully expected to laugh at you the whole night?"

"I remember you being wrong."

"I was very wrong. Publicly. On the record." She shook her head at the memory. "You used to eat whatever was cheap and available, though. That’s the part that still gets me. Somewhere between then and the omelet bet, you became an actual chef."

"I’m a man of hidden talents."

"Sure you are."

"That was strategic eating, for what it’s worth. Back then."

"That was depressing."

"Worked, though."

"That’s not the defence you think it is."

Garrett couldn’t argue with that.

"You order rides everywhere now," Freya went on.

"I can afford it."

"You bought me a ridiculous laptop."

"You needed one."

"You could’ve gotten me a normal one. You got the one I actually wanted."

"Wasn’t going to half-do it."

"That’s not an answer."

"It’s an efficient answer."

She shook her head. "You’ve got money now."

Garrett didn’t immediately respond. There was still something strange about hearing it put that simply. Money had changed several things. Not just what he could buy. How quickly he could solve problems. How much time he could save. How many decisions no longer required him to calculate the price three times before making them. He had spent so long thinking about what he couldn’t afford that having money sometimes still felt like an accounting error.

Freya nudged him with her shoulder. "You used to be this broke, slightly grumpy guy who barely said two words unless provoked."

"Still slightly grumpy."

"Fair." She smiled. "But less broke."

"Things changed."

"Very informative."

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don’t know. Something real."

Garrett glanced at her. "I give plenty of real answers."

"Short ones."

"Efficient ones."

Freya laughed again. "You’re impossible to get real answers out of."

Garrett considered that. She wasn’t wrong. He had spent most of his life keeping things to himself. Some things because they weren’t worth explaining. Others because explaining them meant admitting they mattered. Money was easier. He could tell someone he had more money. He could tell them he had bought something. He could even explain where he got it if he had to. The harder things were different.

Like his father.

Freya’s voice softened. "What about your dad?"

Garrett’s steps slowed slightly before returning to their previous pace. "What about him?"

"You mentioned him before."

"Did I?"

"Once."

Garrett thought back. He probably had. He wasn’t exactly famous for discussing family.

Freya looked ahead as she spoke. "Are you two close?"

"No." The answer came quickly enough that neither of them needed clarification.

"Never have been?"

"Not really."

Freya nodded. Garrett kept his eyes on the road.

"He used to run a business. It fell apart. Things got tight after that."

Freya didn’t interrupt.

"We stopped talking much."

"Because of the business?"

"Not exactly." He paused. "It’s just... one of those things."

Freya glanced at him. "You don’t have to explain."

"I know."

They walked another few metres. Garrett wasn’t sure why he kept talking. Maybe because she hadn’t pushed. Maybe because she wasn’t looking at him like she expected some dramatic family revelation. Or maybe because the subject had been sitting somewhere in the back of his mind ever since the phone call.

"I called him yesterday," Garrett said.

Freya looked over. "You did?"

"Yeah."

"How did that go?"

Garrett thought about the conversation. The awkward beginning. The questions neither of them seemed prepared for. The silence. The eventual investment discussion. The fact that, despite everything, neither of them had hung up.

"Wasn’t terrible."

Freya smiled faintly. "That’s something, at least."

"Yeah."

She didn’t tell him he needed to call more. Didn’t tell him to forgive his father. Didn’t give him some speech about family being important. She simply accepted the answer. Garrett appreciated that more than he expected.

"My parents are kind of the opposite," Freya said.

"How so?"

"My mum calls constantly."

"How constantly?"

"Enough that I sometimes don’t answer just because I know it’s going to be a twenty-minute conversation."

Garrett smiled. "What does she want?"

"Everything." Freya started counting on her fingers. "How classes are going. Whether I’m eating properly. Whether I’ve paid rent. Whether my clothes are clean. Whether I’ve spoken to my landlord. Whether I’m sleeping enough."

"Vegetables?"

"Especially vegetables."

Garrett laughed quietly. "Sounds intense."

"It is."

"Sounds nice."

Freya looked at him. "Sometimes." Then she shrugged. "Better than the alternative."

Garrett understood what she meant. Different versions of complicated. Neither family situation was particularly simple. They just happened to be complicated in opposite directions.

Freya’s voice became quieter. "What do you actually want?"

Garrett looked at her. "Out of what?"

"All of this." She waved vaguely at the street around them. "Life, I mean. Not just tomorrow."

Garrett didn’t answer immediately. The question was bigger than it sounded. Money had made some things easier, but it hadn’t magically given him a destination. For a long time, his goal had been simple. Survive. Pay rent. Get through university. Find a better job. Avoid embarrassing himself. Avoid getting dumped. Avoid having his entire life collapse because one thing went wrong.

Then the system had appeared. Everything had accelerated. Money. Relationships. Opportunities. Problems. He had spent so much time reacting to whatever happened next that he hadn’t really stopped to consider what he wanted when there wasn’t an immediate crisis demanding his attention.

"I don’t fully know yet," he admitted.

Freya didn’t look disappointed.

"Something that’s actually mine, I think." He waited a beat. "Not just reacting to whatever comes at me."

Freya smiled. "That’s a good answer."

"Wasn’t trying to give a good one."

"Those are usually the best kind."

Garrett looked at her for a moment. There was something comfortable about talking to Freya. She didn’t demand that he have everything figured out. She didn’t seem bothered by the spaces between his answers. Sometimes she simply waited. That made it easier to keep talking.

They continued down the road. At some point, Garrett realized they had already passed several streets without either of them paying much attention to the distance. Eventually, the familiar house came into view.

Freya looked up. "We’re here."

Garrett looked ahead. He hadn’t noticed how far they’d walked. "You walked the whole way."

"So did you."

"True."

Freya smiled. "This was nice."

"Yeah."

"Better than the usual walk home."

"Why?"

She looked at him. "Because I wasn’t walking alone."

Garrett didn’t have an immediate sarcastic response for that, so he didn’t try to find one. Instead, he reached for her hand. Her fingers slipped naturally into his. They walked the final few metres like that, neither of them particularly interested in rushing toward the entrance.

When they stopped, Freya turned toward him. Garrett slipped an arm around her, and she leaned against him, resting there for a moment. It was simple.

She looked up at him. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

She gave him a brief kiss, then squeezed his hand before letting go. "See you tomorrow."

"See you."

Freya turned and headed inside. Garrett watched her disappear through the entrance before finally turning toward his own flat.

The walk had been ordinary. The conversation had been ordinary. And somehow, that was what made it feel different. There had been no crisis to solve. No decision that could change everything. Just a girl he liked walking home beside him because she wanted to.

Garrett entered his apartment and dropped his keys onto the table. He took off his jacket, kicked off his shoes, and moved toward the living room. For a few seconds, the evening still felt uncomplicated.

Then he saw it.

The file, still sitting on the coffee table exactly where he’d left it. The physical folder he’d taken from Alexander Vane’s private suite. His father’s name on it. The contract. The termination. The strange language describing obligations, compliance, strategic requirements, humanitarian objectives, and an agreement that had apparently ended up connected to Alexander Vane.

Garrett stopped walking. The ordinary feeling disappeared almost instantly.

He stared at the file for several seconds. He had already spoken to his father. They had talked. They had even managed something resembling a normal conversation. But there was one thing Garrett hadn’t asked. He hadn’t asked Erling about the contract. He hadn’t asked why his father’s name was in Alexander Vane’s private records. He hadn’t asked what had actually happened between their fathers.

Garrett looked at the file again. Then he exhaled slowly.

He still hadn’t asked his father about it.