Page 46 of A Mistake of Worth
“And you’re brilliant at your job,” Michael said calmly. “Which you can continue to do from here. Remotely. Safely.”
“It’s not that simple.” Henri’s voice turned rigid. “La Sauvegarde isn’t like your company. The board expects in-person leadership. The culture in PDC...”
“Is outdated,” Michael finished for him. “And broken. You know it is. You’ve said as much yourself.”
Henri stared at him. The stubborn set of his mouth didn’t match the fear in his eyes.
Michael leaned forward, keeping his voice steady. “I’m not saying quit. I’m saying change the rules. Start asking what you need, not what Marc, or the board, or anyone else demands.”
Henri’s throat bobbed with a swallow. “What I want doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”
Henri blinked. For a moment, the silence stretched thin.
“You’re not going back to him,” Michael said again, firmer now. “Not for work. Not for obligation. Not for anything.”
Henri’s hand trembled slightly as he set his fork down, lining it carefully beside the container.
“You don’t get it,” he said, low. “He won’t let me go.”
Michael’s voice dropped, quiet but unshakable. “He doesn’t get a choice.”
He let that sit between them, anchoring it in the space.
Then he added, more gently, “Tomorrow, we get the phone. One thing at a time.”
“Just like that?” A flicker of bitterness crept into Henri’s voice. “After twenty years, I just... start over?”
“Yes.” Michael’s voice gentled. “One step at a time. Starting with finishing this pad thai and getting some sleep. You’ve got that tour tomorrow.”
Henri stared down at his food. Then, without a word, he picked up his fork.
Michael smiled. “See? Progress.”
Henri didn’t answer, but his next bite was less hesitant.
They finished eating in companionable quiet. Michael gathered the empty containers while Henri wiped down the counters. It felt startlingly domestic, a rhythm they’d already fallen into without meaning to.
They got ready for bed together. Michael let Henri borrow more of his clothes, loose cotton sleepwear soft from too many washes. Henri fell asleep first, curled against him with a hand pressed to Michael’s chest.
Morning came soft and gray. Michael made pancakes again, strawberry this time, and coffee strong enough to wake the dead. Henri wandered in barefoot, still rumpled from sleep, and helped set the table with the easy grace of someone who’d always belonged there. The sight made something warm unfurl in Michael’s chest. Henri looked comfortable here, settled in a way that felt natural and right.
After breakfast, they stepped out into the cool London air and climbed into the waiting car. Sleek, black, driverless. The onboard system chimed to life as the doors closed behind them.
Welcome, Michael and Henri. Primary destination loaded. Would you like to make any stops first?
Henri glanced at Michael, hesitant.
Michael smiled, reaching for Henri’s hand. “We can stop for more coffee if you want. Or a snack. Or to stare at something shiny in a shop window.”
Henri blinked at him, startled by the suggestion. He shook his head, too fast. “Let’s just go.”
Michael didn’t push. He gave Henri’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Soho it is,” he told the console. “Phone shop first, then Canary Wharf.”
The car merged smoothly into traffic, gliding through London’s bustling morning streets. The automated system adjusted speed and route based on real-time traffic data,weaving them through narrow lanes and wider arterials with precision.
The car glided to a stop outside a sleek, glass-fronted tech showroom in Soho. A curved banner on the window rotated between ads for neural sync accessories, biometric earbuds, and hybrid AR/VR smartwear.
