Page 46 of A House of Gold
I think about it. About the guard’s eager expression, his genuine concern for Barnes, the way he smiled as we left. The way he probably felt good about himself for helping.
“No,” I admit.
“No,” Croesus agrees. “He felt helpful. Useful. He made what he thinks was a kind choice, and he’ll go home tonight feeling like a decent person. He’ll tell his wife about the concerned friend who came to check on Mr. Barnes, and she’ll tell him he did the right thing. He’ll sleep well, wake up tomorrow, and never think about it again.”
He turns to face me fully, and his expression is serious, intent.
“I could have stripped away his choice entirely, walked past him like he was furniture, made him forget we were ever there. I can’t compel him to give me his soul, but I can manipulate the world around him so he wants to do it. Yes, walking past him, forcing his mind to forget us, would have been cleaner. More efficient. But I gave him a choice and made that choice appealing. He still chose. He just chose what I wanted him to choose.” He pauses. “Tell me honestly, Raven. Which is worse? Taking away someone’s free will entirely? Or letting them keep it but influencing their decision?”
I don’t have a good answer for that.
The question sits heavily between us, unanswered and maybe unanswerable. He’s right, in a twisted way. The guard still chose. Still had agency. Still felt good about his decision.
But it wasn’t really his choice, was it? Not when an angel was standing there, radiating desire and want and making every cell in the guard’s body scream yes.
Is that better than compulsion? Or just a prettier version of the same thing?
I don’t know.
And that bothers me more than anything else.
“Come on,” Croesus says, reaching for the door handle. “Let’s finish this.”
The handle doesn’t turn.
Locked. Of course.
Croesus makes a small sound of annoyance, then places his palm flat against the door. I feel more than see what happens next, a pulse of power, gold light flickering briefly under his hand. The lock clicks.
“Handy,” I mutter.
“One of many perks.” He pushes the door open. “After you.”
The office beyond is exactly what I expected: sleek, modern, expensive. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, a massive desk covered in papers and screens, leather chairs that barely look sat in. A space designed to impress clients and intimidate competitors.
And sitting behind the desk, staring at his computer screen with bloodshot eyes and a tie hanging loose around his neck, is David Barnes.
He doesn’t look up when we enter. Doesn’t even seem to notice we’re there. Just keeps typing, his fingers moving with almost no thought across the keyboard.
“Mr. Barnes,” Croesus says, his voice slicing the silence.
Barnes’s hands freeze. Slowly, so slowly, he looks up.
And the moment he sees Croesus, his face goes white.
“No.” The word comes out as a whisper. “No, you can’t. I’m still, the contract isn’t?—”
“Relax, David.” Croesus moves into the room with that same leonine grace, and I follow, staying close to the door. “No one is here to collect yet.”
Barnes is shaking now. Actually shaking, with his hands trembling on the desk. “Then why...”
“Because someone else wants to collect first. And I thought you might prefer the alternative.” Croesus stops a few feet from the desk, hands in his pockets, perfectly casual. “Tell me, David. How’s the contract working out for you?”
“Fine.” Barnes’s voice cracks on the word. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I’m-I’m performing perfectly. Every deal closes, every client is happy, I’m —”
“Exhausted,” Croesus finishes. “Isolated. Incapable of asking for help even when you desperately need it. Watching your marriage crumble because you can’t admit weakness. Watching your health decline because you can’t slow down. Perfect, isn’t it? Exactly what you asked for?”
Barnes’s face crumples. For a moment, I think he’s going to cry. “I didn’t know. He didn’t tell me it would be like this. He just said he said I’d be the best. That I’d be perfect.”
