He was taken home, a healthy boy, with two loving parents. It must be said that he immediately started to prove his mother right. He was a quiet boy, studious. His father was rarely home, managing a prosperous tech company. He had nannies, one by one they came, and one by one, his mother dismissed them. He didn't know why. When his father was home he hired tutors to nurture his offspring's potential talents. He studied chess, the violin, and painting, under his mother's watchful eye. By five he was competent in all of these and more.
At school his teacher's noted his solitary manner on the playground. But his parents saw he was independent, dedicated to excellence in every moment. Playing with the other children was a form of procrastination, they said.
His elementary teachers praised his academic achievements. But if they recommended additional assistance his parents said that was unnecessary. He would overcome them alone, they said, and he did. They bought him presents as rewards; how-to books, tutors, and educational toys.
As he grew up he watched his parents. His father visited in a haphazard manner. When at home, he took a fierce interest in the boy's education. He hosted such parties that burned late into the night. Then, after leaving some expensive knickknack he was gone again. The boy saw his mom sometimes, but she said, too much attention spoils a child. Covertly she followed his progress, ensuring he was achieving benchmarks.
By high school, he had collected a few friends. They continually voiced their acclaim for his determination and bravery. In the first week he pointed out a sophomore girl to his coterie. Within a week they were a couple. No one looked happier than her. He had grown into a strong, athletic man with a sharp mind. No one bothered him. He strode through the halls with silent confidence.
His grades were excellent, his social interactions superb. His mother wasn't surprised when he came home and told her he was elected class president in Freshman year. He achieved great things in his four years of prep school. He dated four girls, earned AP credits as early as Sophomore year, was a top student, and captain of the football team. At prom he and his new date were named homecoming king and queen. His only regret, reported his friends, was that he was the Salutatorian. He stewed about it for weeks, upset with himself for his failure. He wasn't able to attend his graduation ceremony because of a car accident three days before that left him in the hospital with a broken leg.
In college he had less time for friends. I've got to keep moving, his acquaintances reported him saying. During that time he reached out to his girlfriend from freshman year of high school. Under urging from him they reconnected. He told her he had loved her, and couldn't stop thinking about her. When he wasn't visiting her, lavishing her with gifts, he spent nearly all his time studying business. Moving numbers. Manipulating numbers. Transferring numbers. Dollars, moved, shuffled, manipulated, and transferred for the benefit of those who already had, and wanted more. He had, but he wanted more.
He graduated in three and a half years, not because of the cost, but because he wanted to lead.
Already rumors, spread by the jealous, lingered in his wake. Some girl, his friends said, made claims on him. He had new friends. Friends of his class. And friends who weren't, but wanted to be.
He dropped what he found lacking in interest, even if he had committed to it. He found himself in the thick of business. Of making money for those who already had a lifetime's worth. The deserving helping the deserving. With his future secured he shouldn't have worried, but he did. His wife, secure in their mansion, prepared to bear his first child, his heir.
He worked himself with commitment, for the shareholders, for the company, for the good of the country. He worked with abandon, to exhaustion, flying first class to meetings with multinational CEO's, former Presidents, and monarchs. He spent weeks away from his wife, staying at the homes of friends or in expensive hotels.
He returned briefly to witness the birth of his daughter, then he returned to work, building her an inheritance she could be proud of. Initially he paired success with fame, but this attracted attention, and rumors.
He fought for the causes he believed in. Or at least, other people, using his money, fought for them. This was the best possible outcome; he gathered the resources and distributed them, to protect property owners, to fight foreign wars, for politicians to see how writing laws that favored his business were in the national interest.
He appreciated what his parents had done for him, so he did the same for his children. Whenever he returned home he insisted they take this class, study under this tutor, or learn this valuable skill. He knew they loved him, even if they didn't recognize it yet. They would eventually.
He had raced to have everything he wanted, then spent three decades dolling out favors for those who didn't. Politicians, entrepreneurs, and reporters waited on him, and he returned favor for favor.
As it comes for everyone, age came for him. He didn't worry. He had everything. Stocks, colleagues, companies, property, and healthcare. He didn't worry. Old age led inevitably to poor health. His children came for him then. They asked, they pleaded, they begged, for treasures that were his. They wanted to divide his estate. He said no. I have everything I want. Recognizing his intransigence they departed empty handed.
As his health deteriorated he paid a caretaker so he didn't have to leave his mansion. He paid doctors to attend him at home. His wealth convinced former companions to make a pilgrimage. Everyone asked for favors, but he rebuffed them. I have everything I want, and nothing left to give.
At last, at night he was alone, coughing in pain. Suffering. The ending in sight. But he clutched his silk sheets to him.
I have everything I want.
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