There I was in Clarisse's office, sitting because honestly, I didn't know if I could stand.
All I could do was stare at the tv in her office, watching as the news reported Charles Harrington suicide. They speculated on what could have caused it and no one missed the most obvious reason.
The words kept resonating in my brain. 'Depression at the loss of family legacy.'
I gritted my teeth, wondering just what was this city's obsession with legacy.
No matter what I did, my mind kept replaying the last time I saw him.
The way his anger had boiled over, his threats, the desperation in his eyes. And now, he was gone.
And I just know that whatever resulted in this, I had a hand in it.
"He didn't seem like the kind of man to kill himself." I muttered, more to myself than to Clarisse.
