Chapter 349: The Price of Growth

Michael had sensed it for a while.

His wife was much younger than him. Back then, with his stable job and social standing, it hadn’t been hard to win over a young woman’s heart.

A comfortable life is something everyone desires. It might not sound flattering, but that’s the truth.

Though Michael was considerably older, he had a stable job, a good income, and high social status. The girl, who had already been battered by society within just a couple of years after graduation, gave in quickly.

While her former classmates and colleagues still lived in cheap, cramped apartments in the lower districts—some even trading their bodies for rent—she was already lounging in a bright living room, painting her toenails with expensive polish most people could only envy.

She had servants at her command, could sleep in until ten every morning, nap in the afternoon, and binge TV shows late into the night.

Her life was too comfortable—so comfortable that she hadn’t changed much from the girl she was years ago.

Her understanding of society, of its brutal reality, had frozen on the night she decided to take the easier path.

She had no work skills and no ability to survive on her own. Michael had always known this.

But he had never thought about correcting it. His job had seemed stable. Director Johnson wasn’t a tough boss and was easy to get along with.

With Michael’s own status rising, there was even a chance he could move up again. So why should the future wife of Sabin City’s tax bureau director take on a job no different from any ordinary woman’s?

He loved her, this young woman. People often joked—sometimes with envy—that he, a man in his thirties, had married a high schooler. It was clearly about him.

But there were times he wasn’t sure whether he loved her, or just her youth, or even just the image it gave him.

From the moment he entered prison, he realized some things could no longer be changed.

His wife lacked the ability to support herself, let alone their child, and certainly not the mounting bills.

Even though he had managed to preserve some savings, and even though Director Johnson had promised he could be released early under the Special Talent Requisition Act, there would still be a gap of several years.

The money at home wouldn’t last that long. Neither his parents nor hers could support a woman and a child.

And then there were the bills.

He had mentally prepared himself for a divorce, or at least for something serious. But he hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. Less than a year after his imprisonment, his wife was pregnant.

She had come to see him seeking advice. The other man wanted her to keep the child. She didn’t know what to do and came to ask her husband. She had never made a serious life decision on her own.

It was harsh. Brutally realistic.

Worse still, the other man had a family. He would never marry her. Even if Michael divorced her, she would only ever be that man’s mistress.

What finally broke Michael was when she brought up the bills—and their son, Little Michael.

Little Michael had been detained after falsely confessing to a crime. Michael later admitted in court that he had coerced the confession, and the boy was released. But the damage was done.

At his private school, classmates called him a thief, a criminal’s son. They ostracized him and said he didn’t belong in a “sacred” institution.

The once cheerful boy became quiet, withdrawn. His smile vanished. He dreaded going to school.

His wife’s therapist warned that if he remained in that environment, he could develop serious psychological issues.

The best option was to change his living and learning environment. But that required money.

A lot of it.

Therapy costs, transfer fees, housing near the new school—or they could stay in their current place but would then need higher commuting expenses.

It all came down to money. And that financial burden finally defeated Michael. Silently, he chose to respect his wife’s decision.

Whether or not to keep the other man’s child, he left it to her.

He knew the man would cover their expenses, continue paying for a maid, even fund Little Michael’s therapy and new school.

What choice did he have?

Yell at her for sleeping with someone else and getting pregnant while he was in prison?

Force them to move to the slums, scrape together rent, let Little Michael attend a terrible public school, and risk him joining a gang?

Or watch the boy buckle under pressure and possibly take his own life?

For Michael, there weren’t many options. In the end, he gave up everything—for the sake of the child.

That was why it hurt so much. For the first time, he felt truly small, powerless, and ashamed.

Not even when he first started his sentence had he felt this way.

Gap watched the man beside him, clutching his hair and sobbing uncontrollably. He felt something—pity, empathy, maybe even a little gratitude.

He had divorced Vera before going to prison. They had split their assets. Most importantly, he had never tried to control her life or work. In fact, he had encouraged her to get her CPA license.

Back then, he only did it to get her off his back and stop her from meddling in his life.

But those decisions made Gap’s current problems far easier than Michael’s. Someone once said happiness is simple—it just means doing better than the unlucky person next to you.

Gap now fully agreed with that sentiment. He gently comforted Michael, “Stay strong, Michael. Think of your child. It’s not as bad as it feels…”

If only Gap and Michael knew that Little Michael’s sexual orientation was beginning to shift, they might not have been so optimistic.

“I… I just needed to cry. Crying made me feel better,” Michael said, wiping his tear- and snot-covered face with his sleeve, which made Gap nauseous. “Thanks, brother. I’ll be strong—for my child.”

After that emotional release, Michael gradually regained his composure and accepted reality. Not that he had any other choice.

Both men were lost in thought. After a while, Michael suddenly asked, “Those books of yours—on law—can I read them when you’re done?”

There was a new strength in his eyes—Michael was determined to change.

In the past, he had been too hot-headed. Maybe he had some skills, but he was impulsive, aggressive in his work, and worst of all, had only a vague understanding of the law.

In truth, many low-level law enforcement officers barely understood legal principles beyond the situations they frequently encountered. Most couldn’t even clearly define what constituted obstruction of justice or assaulting an officer.

Michael had suffered from this ignorance. If he had known more about the law back then, things might not have turned out so badly.

His cellmate, Gap, an accountant, had started studying law on his very first day in prison. Michael had considered it too—but never followed through. Now was the time.

Even during incarceration, it wasn’t too late to change.

“Of course!” Gap responded enthusiastically. He welcomed a learning environment—it made prison life less dull.

Two men, both believing they had been wronged and framed, now encouraged one another to study. Their cell was becoming a unique space for growth and self-improvement.

The next day, Gap was reading—he had plenty of time. He wasn’t required to join labor assignments, go to the yard, or shower publicly. He had privileges.

Gap had previously audited Liston’s finances. Because of that, prison administrators—including the warden—hoped he would help them legally reduce their taxes.

It was a peculiar aspect of federal prisons—prisoners with specialized professions like accountants, doctors, and lawyers were especially valued.

The warden had not only procured all the law books Gap needed but had also arranged for him to room with Michael, who was known as a decent guy.

As Gap was reading, the cell door opened politely. A guard spoke, “Mr. Gap, you have visitors.”

Gap was briefly stunned, then stood up quickly. “I’ll be right there…” he said, putting on his light-blue prison uniform as he walked. “Can I ask who it is?”

The guard shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t know. Two men.”

Shortly after, Gap walked through the corridor into the prison’s administrative wing. Instead of the usual visitation room, the guard led him to the warden’s office.

The door opened. Standing by the large floor-to-ceiling window was a tall, commanding figure. The sunlight streaming in made the silhouette hard to see clearly.

“Mr. Gap, we meet again.”