Free All In by Simona Ahrnstedt

didn’t say anything. It wouldn’t have done any good.
    â€œI can’t defend myself against anonymous accusations,” Rima said grimly.
    Gustaf began anew, attacking her over and over again in a chilling voice. Finally she just sat there in silence, her eyes dry, red splotches on her neck.
    â€œI want you to take the weekend to think about it and consider whether we can work together in the future,” Gustaf concluded coldly. “Currently I just don’t see it.”
    Rima swallowed. Peter didn’t dare look at either of them; he was practically holding his breath. She stood up. Her hands were shaking. But she hadn’t started to cry, and her voice had remained polite throughout. Clearly, she was really tough. But it was over for her, he knew it. On Monday she would resign. He was sure of that.
    Before Rima had even left the room, his father said, loudly enough for her to hear, “That’s what happens when you hire a jungle bunny.”
    Peter looked down at the table.
    Â 
    After Rima left, his father asked, “Are you going out to the estate?” as if nothing unusual had happened, as if he hadn’t just broken a woman and also been so racist that Peter was ashamed.
    But Peter just nodded. It didn’t matter; his father never listened to what anyone said. Father always knew best.
    â€œLouise invited some friends over for the weekend,” he said.
    â€œBusiness acquaintances?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œGood.”
    Peter bowed his head at the approval, wished his father’s praise didn’t mean so much to him.
    They said good-bye. Gustaf strolled out to the car that his private chauffeur drove up and Peter walked down to the garage. As soon as they parted, he felt some of the relentless pressure lifting. It was almost a physical relief, as if someone had been sitting on his chest and had now gotten off.
    He clicked to unlock the car and then opened the door.
    Friday. A whole weekend with no other obligations than to possibly play host to one or two well-organized dinners. How wonderful. He drove out of the garage and headed out of the city. As he drove through the Friday evening traffic, his mind turned to the uncomfortable meeting, but he brushed it aside.
    He had more than enough of his own problems to deal with. Getting into a conflict with his father was the last thing he needed.
    As soon as the speed limit went up, he pushed down on the gas pedal.
    But it had been a rough meeting. It got rougher every time, but you didn’t question Gustaf De la Grip. Not if you wanted a prominent position at Investum. And that, more than anything, was exactly what Peter wanted—a prominent position, the most prominent: CEO.
    Sometimes it felt like he’d been fighting his whole life.
    He was reminded of that even today. How he started school, worked like an animal, and only heard that he had to put in more effort. How was it possible to fight so hard and still never really get there?
    His father, who didn’t believe in weakness, psychologists, or other failings, had handled every difficulty by scolding him sporadically. In a family where one was expected to excel at something, where everyone was the best at something, in a family whose motto was “Business is pleasure” he had never been anything more than mediocre.
    He stopped at a red light, drumming his fingers on the wheel.
    The sense of impotence and frustration had always been like a darkness within him. And his outlet had always been to attack those who were even weaker. Better to bully than to be bullied. Better to hit than to be hit. That could have been the De la Grip family motto right there, he thought. Sometimes he dreamed that someone would intervene and speak up, change the story, prevent the catastrophe. But he didn’t want to think about it, had devoted so much time to not remembering.
    Still, it was strange, he thought as he followed the traffic, that at the age of thirty-five