John loved driving his '97 chevy. The wind in his face as he drove felt refreshing. He loved going to Faschav Park, which provided not only clarity but also a scenic escape from the long hours spent obsessing over work. Though committed to his career, he knew the importance of taking a break from the cubicles to preserve his sanity.
Faschav Park was located on a hill, offering a clear vantage point of Tharak City. Divided into three distinct areas—the chess section mostly filled with elderly men, a pet zone, and a vast green lawn—it was a large park that took effort to reach. A spiral-shaped road wound up the hill, and being on the outskirts, it offered fresh air, free from the city's noise and chaos.
John loved coming here. It gave him a feeling of serene isolation, perfect for reflecting and contemplating. From the hilltop, the view of the city below served as a reminder of his hard work. He controlled a substantial part of Tharak City's economic engine. The Hues family had built one of the most prominent banking firms in the region—Huesco—a legacy stretching back generations. More than just a savings bank, it was a financial powerhouse, handling large-scale investments and corporate financing. By controlling the flow of money in and out of the city, John's bank held the keys to Tharak's economic pulse.
He walked over to the chess section, carrying his books. John enjoyed playing against the old-timers. Chess, to him, was more than a board game; it was a battlefield. Every piece and every move tested his foresight and strategy. To John, victory lay not in overpowering his opponent but in outthinking them, predicting their moves, and dominating the board long before the final checkmate. He took pride in demonstrating his superiority in almost every possible way, his smirk hinting at barely restrained laughter when shaking hands after each victory.
After winning several rounds, satisfied with his domination, John returned to his books. He sat on a bench, the glow of a lamppost overhead providing enough light to read. As dusk settled into night, the park grew quieter, but he remained engrossed, unaware of time passing. The light above dimmed, making it harder to see the words on the page. Realizing it was time to head home, he stood up and checked his pocket watch.
Before leaving, he walked to the viewpoint overlooking the city. The lights of Karath shone brightly, the city seemingly alive. It gave John immense satisfaction, knowing he owned many of the towering buildings in the skyline. Filled with pride and contentment, he turned to head home, a sense of accomplishment settling over him.
The wrought-iron gate, aged but still grand, displayed the initials "JH" in an elegant, curvy font, a mark of legacy. As John's car approached, the weathered gates creaked open automatically, revealing a cobblestone road leading to the main house. At the center of the path, an ornate stone fountain stood, worn with time but still majestic, guiding cars in a smooth roundabout.
The manor itself was a testament to the Hues family's long-standing history—its stone facade slightly faded but regal, with ivy creeping up its towering columns. The large windows, framed in dark wood, had seen countless generations pass through. The structure's age only added to its charm, exuding both grandeur and heritage. From the gardens, the distant barks of John's pitbulls echoed, their deep growls a reminder of the estate's vigilant guardianship over the years.
John parked near the fountain, the engine's hum fading as he stepped out. The pitbulls quieted as he passed, their watchful eyes following him. He walked up the stone steps and into the manor, the heavy wooden doors closing behind him with a familiar creak.
Inside, the routine was simple. He brushed his teeth, his mind already winding down. Without much thought, he headed straight to his room and collapsed onto the bed, letting sleep take over almost instantly.