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indefinite jail time and an utterly ruined reputation. What was he to do?
                  Strangely enough, the young man found his thoughts drifting back to Charlotte and the time they'd spent together. While, in the beginning, he'd promised himself that he'd allow himself only to become physically intimate with her—and nothing more—his feelings had rapidly multiplied. How could he have avoided it?
                  Charlotte was the complete antithesis of her father, which made it easy for him to envision a future with her. Though he'd known the entire time that the projection he was building was a ruse, David had imagined himself staying with her for years—perhaps eventually proposing and marrying the daughter of his sworn enemy.
                  The irony would be crippling, but Charlotte deserved no less. Even someone as jaded as he could realize that.
                  And now he'd utterly destroyed it.
                  The thoughts that ran through his head at least five or six times a day were enough to demoralize him to the point where he simply paced the room, arguing with himself about his own nature.
                  During a particularly intense self-berating session, a guard beyond the bars of his cell announced that he had a visitor. David wondered who it was for the few scant moments it took the guard to remove him from his cell and maneuver him to the visitation room. The moment he entered the cement-walled space, his eyes widened as he caught the gaze of the only occupant present.
                  Marshall.

Chapter Six
     
                  Marshall sat at the opposite end of the table, his expression grim. “Shit, man,” he said, making David wince. “I knew something had to be up when that nurse didn't know where you were.”
                  Christ, Marshall was still babysitting him like he was a teenager. While David was glad to see a familiar face, the embarrassment that he was in cuffs far outweighed any pleasure he felt. What must Marshall think of him?
                  “You shouldn't be here, Marshall.” It was all he could think of to say.
    At David’s words, Marshall’s face only became more somber, and he said, “I'm here to pay your bail.”
                  “Like hell you are.” David knew that his bail was set at ten thousand dollars since Mathers Incorporated was such a high profile company. He'd be dead and in his grave before he let anyone pay such a lofty sum of money to get him out of the situation he'd worked himself into. “I won't let you.”
                  “David, do you think we've been friends for this long because you've let me be friends with you?” Marshall's gaze was sincere as he leaned across the table, under the close watch of the guard. “You've been inside this little bubble your entire life, and you're under some gross misconception that I pity you or think less of you because of the circumstances you've encountered. I've come here today to tell you that you're wrong.” Stunned, David couldn't find the words to rebut him. While he vainly searched for what to say to dissuade Marshall, he only steamrolled on. “I've never pitied you or considered you a charity case. If I've paid for you, it's only because I thought it was the least you deserved. For thirty-five years, life has been throwing you these devastating curve balls; yet, every time, you manage to come out on top.”
                  His words drew scathing laughter from the dark-eyed man, who merely shook his head. “On top? Marshall, do you want to know why I'm in here? I plotted to bring down Mathers, and I nearly had . Everything was going as I wanted until…suddenly…” he trailed off, somewhat lost in his thoughts, “…until, suddenly, it wasn't.”
                  “What happened, David?” Marshall's soft inquiry touched