Mr Huntingtons Secret

The rain in Northbridge city did not care about Caspian Vance's broken shoes. It poured down in heavy, cold sheets, soaking through the thin canvas of his sneakers until his toes felt numb. He stood on the sidewalk outside the towering glass office of Vanguard Architecture, holding a soggy cardboard box. Inside the box was everything he owned from the last two years of his life: a cheap plastic mug, a few black pens, and a rolled-up blueprint that had just been stolen from him.

Two hours ago, Caspian had a future. He was the lead intern, the guy who stayed up until three in the morning drinking stale coffee to perfect the designs for the new city waterfront project. He had poured his heart into those sketches. But this afternoon, his boss had called him into the main conference room.

Caspian had walked in expecting a promotion. Instead, he found Preston Vance sitting at the long mahogany table, wearing a tailored gray suit that cost more than Caspian made in a year. Preston was the son of a wealthy real estate mogul, a man who had never worked a hard day in his life.

"Caspian, my boy," the boss had said, smiling a fake, greasy smile. "We have decided to go with Preston's brilliant design for the waterfront project. And unfortunately, due to budget cuts, we have to let you go."

Caspian had stared at the screen. The blueprints displayed were his. Every line, every calculated curve of the roof, every single window placement was his work. Preston had simply copied the files from Caspian's computer and put his own name on the cover page.

"But sir, that is my design," Caspian had protested, his voice shaking. "I spent three months on those calculations. Preston hasn't even opened the software this week!"

Preston had just laughed, a cruel, mocking sound as he leaned back in his leather chair. "Caspian, look at yourself. Who do you think the board is going to believe? A broke intern from the slums, or a certified designer from a legacy family? Don't make a scene. Just pack your trash and leave before I call security."

Nobody in the room looked Caspian in the eye. They all knew the truth, but money talked louder than honesty in Northbridge.

Now, standing under the freezing rain, Caspian felt a deep, burning ache in his chest. It was the feeling of total helplessness. He checked his phone. His bank account showed exactly twelve dollars and fifty cents. Rent was due in two days, and his landlord was not a patient man.

"It's fine," Caspian whispered to himself, his breath fogging in the cold air. "I still have Gemma. We can figure this out."

Gemma was his girlfriend of three years. They had met in college, and Caspian had spent every spare penny he had taking her to nice dinners, buying her clothes, and trying to make her feel special. He worked extra shifts just to afford the gold-plated necklace she wanted for her birthday. She was his anchor.

He pulled out his phone with trembling, wet fingers and called her.

"Caspian?" her voice answered after four rings. She sounded distracted, the loud music of a high-end cafe playing in the background.

"Hey, Gemma," Caspian said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Are you at the Bistro on 5th? Can I meet you there? Something happened at work."

"Actually, Caspian, I'm glad you called," Gemma said. Her tone was suddenly different. It was cold, sharp, and completely devoid of the warmth he was used to. "You don't need to come find me. I'm already out with someone. And honestly, we need to talk."

A cold pit formed in Caspian's stomach, heavier than the rain soaking his jacket. "What do you mean?"

"I mean we are done, Caspian," she said flatly. "I can't do this anymore. I am tired of eating cheap noodles in your cramped apartment. I am tired of walking everywhere because you can't afford a car. I am a beautiful woman, and I deserve a man who can actually take care of me, not an intern who struggles to pay for a movie ticket."

Caspian felt like the ground was disappearing beneath his feet. "Gemma, please. I just got fired today because Preston stole my design. Just give me a few days. I will find another job, I promise."

A heavy silence stretched over the line, followed by a familiar, mocking chuckle. It wasn't Gemma's voice. It was Preston's.

"Let me take the phone, babe," Preston's voice boomed through the speaker. Caspian could hear the clinking of expensive wine glasses.

"Hey there, loser. Don't worry about Gemma. She's in good hands now. I just bought her a diamond bracelet to celebrate my new project. You know, the project you drew for me? Thanks for that, by the way."

"Preston!" Caspian yelled, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the phone. "Put Gemma on!"

Gemma came back on the line, but there was no regret in her voice. "Don't yell at him, Caspian. Preston is a real man with a real future. He just took me to a five-star restaurant, and we are going to a VIP party tonight. Do yourself a favor and don't call me again. We are from two different worlds."

The line went dead.

Caspian slowly lowered his hand. The rain poured down on his face, mixing with the hot tears of anger and humiliation that finally broke free. He felt completely hollowed out. He had given everything to his job, and it was stolen. He had given everything to his girlfriend, and she had traded him for the very thief who ruined him.

He looked at his soggy box of belongings, then looked up at the massive Vanguard building. The world was unfair. If you were poor, you were invisible. If you were poor, people could step on you, spit on your face, and walk away laughing, and nobody would ever stop them.

"I hate this," Caspian hissed through gritted teeth, his body shaking with a mix of cold and pure rage. "I hate all of you."

He kicked a trash can on the sidewalk, sending his box of office supplies tumbling into a puddle. The cheap plastic mug shattered. The blueprint soaked up the dirty street water, turning into mush. He didn't care. None of it mattered anymore.