By late afternoon, rain tapped softly against the tall windows of the family estate. Richard sat inside his private home office, reviewing multi-million dollar real estate deeds and foreign investment accounts. High-value stock portfolios and estate trust documents covered his desk, yet none of his financial successes brought him genuine satisfaction. Every time he closed his eyes, his wife's desperate screams echoed in his mind.
A quiet knock sounded at the heavy double doors, breaking his tense concentration.
Richard: Come in, and make it quick.
Marcus stepped inside, holding a thick folder filled with grade reports and ivy league college entrance essays. His knuckles were pale, and his red-rimmed eyes betrayed hours of silent weeping in his private bedroom upstairs.
Marcus: I completed the additional SAT prep essays you demanded this morning.
Richard took the folder without looking up from his screen and flipped through the neatly typed pages casually.
Richard: Your introductory paragraph lacks authority and sharp corporate conviction.
Marcus: I wrote exactly what the top university admissions boards look for.
Richard: You wrote like an average student, not a future industry leader.
Marcus swallowed hard, his hands tightening into fists at his sides as his chest heaved with growing frustration.
Marcus: I spent six straight hours working on those draft pages without stopping!
Richard: Then you should have spent eight hours and done it correctly.
Marcus: Nothing I ever do is good enough for you, is it?
Richard: I demand excellence because the corporate business world will show no mercy.
Marcus: Is that why Mom locked herself away in her room forever?
Richard stood up abruptly, leaning over his wide desk while his eyes burned with fierce anger.
Richard: Do not bring your mother into this conversation, young man!
Marcus: You demanded perfection from her until her mind broke completely!
Richard: I provided her with luxury mansions, cars, and boundless credit accounts!
Marcus: She didn't want your luxury cars! She wanted a real husband!
The words slammed into the room like a physical blow. Richard stood frozen, his chest rising and falling heavily, unable to formulate a swift response to his son's blunt accusation.
Marcus: And now you are doing the exact same thing to us every single day.
Richard: I am giving you every advantage a millionaire father can provide.
Marcus: You aren't giving us an advantage! You are suffocating us to death!
Marcus pulled a thick stack of study schedules from his binder and tossed them across the desk, scattering white papers across the floor.
Marcus: My little brothers are terrified to talk to you at dinner!
Richard: They will respect my rules as long as they live here.
Marcus: They don't respect you, Dad. They are absolutely terrified of you.
Marcus turned on his heel and slammed the heavy office door behind him, leaving Richard standing alone in the quiet room. The silence that followed was suffocating, heavy with the growing reality that his household was crumbling from within.
Richard slowly walked toward his desk, kneeling down to gather the scattered paper schedules. On one sheet, a small handwritten note from his youngest daughter hung in the margin, reading: "Please let us play today." Richard stared at the crude handwriting for a long moment, a sharp pang of discomfort striking deep inside his chest before he quickly brushed it aside.
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