David and I walked in silence. There was a question I wanted to ask, but something about the weight of everything kept holding me back. Still, I pushed through.
"What's your name?" I asked, keeping my voice low.
He smiled faintly. "David Jackson. And yours, young man?"
"John. John Marten."
We kept walking until we reached a building that stopped me in my tracks — my company. The place I built from nothing. Every brick of it was mine. Every hour, every sacrifice. This was supposed to be my legacy.
I stepped through the glass doors. No one noticed me, of course, but I froze at the sound of laughter and cheering. Celebration? Why were they celebrating?
David seemed confused, too.
We followed the noise to the main office floor, where a crowd of employees stood clapping, drinks in hand. And then I saw it — a man holding up a framed photo of me. My portrait. My face.
He raised his voice:
"Today… is the day we've all been waiting for!"
The crowd roared in agreement.
"Today, we celebrate the death of John Marten!"
Applause. Cheers. Laughter.
I stood frozen.
What…? Death? Mine?
My legs refused to move. My mind raced. Why are they cheering like this?
The man held a lighter under my picture. I wanted to stop him, but it was too late. Flames devoured the image as the room erupted in joy.
Why do they hate me?
I turned to David, trying to breathe. "I didn't do anything wrong… I just wanted everything to be perfect. I pushed them because I thought I was helping them. I wanted them to be like me…"
David gently placed a hand on my shoulder.
"John," he said quietly, "the problem is… you only saw your reflection. Not theirs. You saw what you were doing for them — not what they felt because of you."
I didn't respond. His words pierced deep.
"You wanted them to be perfect like you," David continued, "but maybe they never wanted your perfection. Maybe they just wanted to be human."
I lowered my eyes. The sounds of celebration faded into the background. My legacy — the thing I believed I built with pride — was crumbling before me.
I turned away in silence. We left the building, my footsteps heavy with shame.
I hated who I was in that moment.
And for the first time, I truly wondered:
Can I ever make things right? Or is it too late?