Robert looked away, his eyes only able to see the blue sky and the tops of the trees that surrounded the walkways outside the building. It wasn’t about money, though with both of them brought up with the legacy and wealth of the Branson name, paying for things wasn’t something they had to worry about. It was the fact that he was breathing, eating, if one could call it that, and shitting, but nothing else. He was tired of this pseudo-life. Tired of losing more of himself when he had a seizure or an operation or was sick. Tired of seeing the strain in his mother as she tried to hide her agony from him. And he was God damn tired of the tubes and the machines and the medications that kept him alive.
“I’ve decided I’m quitting the firm in Chicago and moving back to Durango. Maybe I’ll set up a
