Page 48 of A Life Chosen

Marguerite set out a plate of lavish pastries that neither of them touched as they drank their coffee at the kitchen table. He had little experience with these kinds of interactions—Rayan had been a child the last time he’d spoken to either of his parents. For the most part, he did what he was good at and stayed silent while she talked about her past, where she’d lived in Paris, and nameless people in a social circle he didn’t care to know. Her stories were embellished to the point of implausibility. And then, out of nowhere, she would say something about Mathias.

“I was too needy when he was young. I’d forget about him for days then be distraught all of a sudden if he left my side.” She laughed. “I think he preferred being alone—he was always so independent. And just look how successful he’s become.”

Rayan knew all about that kind of self-reliance born of necessity. He imagined a young Mathias trapped in a house with this fragile woman who talked to fill the silence, her desperation clinging to the air around him.

“Mothers are so hard on themselves, aren’t they?” she said with a reserved smile. “What does yours say about you?”

“She’s dead.” Rayan took a sip of his coffee.

“Oh.” Marguerite fiddled with the chain of her necklace. “Was she sick?”

She was lost.

“Yes,” he lied.

Mathias’s mother frowned, rearranging her cup on the saucer. “Do you know if he went to the funeral?” she asked, her eyes suddenly misty. “For his father?”

Rayan was ashamed to realize he didn’t know. He remembered the interaction with the woman at the hospital, how Mathias had denied ties to his father. He couldn’t imagine he’d gone after that.

Rayan shook his head, and she gave a sigh, flicking a delicate wrist laden with silver. “They wouldn’t let me go, of course. I thought maybe he might.” She lifted her napkin and dabbed lightly at the corners of her eyes. “You know, when he was a boy, he wanted to be just like his father.”

Rayan gripped his cup, a tightness in his throat, remembering Mathias’s words: “The man couldn’t have cared less. He’d have preferred I do something else.” He wondered if she knew how deep that wish had buried itself and the way it had twisted around her son, shaping him.

When Rayan stood to leave, Marguerite packed everything up—the untouched pastries, the apples—and sent them home with him. By the front door, his gaze fell on a small framed photo sitting on the entry table, the only one he’d seen in the sprawling apartment. Mathias, no older than ten, was unsmiling in a shirt and tie, a school logo emblazoned on his breast pocket. He looked straight at the camera, his features boyish but his eyes cold. Rayan felt a pang, struck by an overwhelming urge to take the picture. Instead, he thanked Marguerite for the coffee and let himself out.

He drove home. Rayan handed the bag of food and a fistful of notes to the man who lived in the alleyway beside his building. Once in his apartment, he changed out of his suit, threw on his sneakers, and headed back out onto the street, not sure where he was going. He zipped his coat up to his chin and disappeared into the crowd.

Chapter Seventeen

When Rayan reported to Tony on his first day back at Collections, he was surprised to find him sitting in his office, grinning from ear to ear.

“Should I come back another time?” he asked.

“When did you get so mouthy?” Tony scowled. “Sit down, and shut it.”

Rayan sat in the chair facing Tony’s desk while the old man tossed back what was unlikely to be his first coffee of the morning.

“All right,” he said, fixing Rayan with a beady stare. “I have a shitload of work and no one to do it. Mathias has assured me you’re not a complete moron.”

It was his usual derisive banter, and for once, Rayan appreciated it. At least with Tony, you always knew how little he expected of you.

“You’re starting right at the bottom. I don’t care what you’re used to—it’s down in the muck this time around. I need to get through this backlog. Turf fees, defaults, personal guarantees—you’re on them all.”

Rayan shifted in his seat, concealing a growing annoyance. With Mathias gone, he’d expected something of a demotion, but to be kicked this far down…

Tony stopped him before he could open his mouth. “One month. You do every job I assign you—no matter how dicey—for one month, no questions asked, and you’re back on Commercial.”

Now the man was getting somewhere.

“I’m bringing Lorenzo Gallo in to take over for Beauvais,” Tony continued. “You’ll be working under him.”

Rayan frowned. Lorenzo was one of the old guard. He’d been in Collections since before Mathias’s time. He wasn’t exactly a spring chicken. If Rayan remembered correctly, he had retired shortly after he’d joined.

“Don’t give me that look. Lorenzo’s on the slow side, not used to working white collar, so you’re gonna be the brains behind the outfit. Show him how it’s done. Let him make a couple calls, but answer directly to me.”

“A capo in all but name,” Rayan scoffed.

“Optics.” Tony shrugged. “Blame your old boss for that. He didn’t want you getting too much attention.”

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