Egon Musk #7

Reckoning

Egon paced back and forth in the living room of the ashram apartment, his steps uneven and restless. His fingers clutched the edges of his sleeves as if they might hold him together. The familiar pattern of the rug blurred beneath his feet. His mind, sharpened after weeks of being free from the mushrooms, felt both clearer and more burdened. Thoughts crashed over him like relentless waves.

Should I meet them at the door? He paused mid-stride, shaking his head. No, that seems desperate. He pivoted, walking toward the couch. Maybe I should stay in the bedroom and make an entrance? He sat for a moment, then immediately stood, his nerves too raw to let him stay still.

The room was beautiful—decorated with garlands of marigolds and banana leaves, fairy lights twinkling in the low light—but he barely noticed. The space felt like a stage, and he was a man rehearsing for a scene that terrified him.

His legs gave out beneath him, and he slumped onto the couch, pulling his soft-knit sweater close to his chest like a child holding a teddy bear. Exhaustion wrapped around him like an unwanted blanket.

The sound of footsteps outside the door jolted him upright. His heart pounded as the door creaked open.

Gaye entered first, regal and composed in a beige shawl draped gracefully over her shoulders. Lillian followed, her auburn curls catching the light, her eyes wary but curious.

“Egon?” Gaye’s voice was soft but steady.

He rose to his feet, but the weight of everything—the fear, the hope, the regret—crushed him. His vision swam, and his knees buckled.

“Dad!” Lillian cried, rushing forward just as he collapsed back onto the couch.

“Egon!” Gaye knelt beside him, her calm mask slipping as panic flashed in her eyes.

Vivek was already there, steady and sure as he placed a hand on Egon’s shoulder. “He’s overwhelmed,” Vivek murmured gently. “He’ll be okay.”

Egon’s eyes fluttered open, glassy but alive. A deep breath shuddered through him as he took in the sight of Gaye and Lillian.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and raw. Tears gathered in his eyes. “I... I didn’t know what to do.”

Lillian stepped back, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “You’re not going to pass out again, are you?”

A weak laugh broke through his tears. “No... I think I got that out of my system.” He brushed his hair back with trembling fingers. “I’ve been... such a fool.”

Gaye reached for his hand, her touch warm and grounding. “Start from the beginning, Egon.”

He nodded and took a slow, measured breath. “At first, I was drawn to the power. I thought I was smarter than everyone else. I thought I could use their ignorance to build something... something greater. But somewhere along the way, I wasn’t leading—I was following.” His voice cracked. “And I was following Grump... into hatred, into madness.”

Lillian’s expression softened, but her arms stayed crossed, a shield between her and the words she wasn’t sure she could trust.

“Zitter became a feeding frenzy,” Egon continued, swiping at the tears that clung stubbornly to his lashes. “I called it ‘free speech,’ but I was just giving hate a stage and a spotlight. I told myself that if I didn’t give them a voice, someone else would. But now I see that... if those hate groups want a platform, they can build it themselves—like Grump did with his pathetic ‘True Socialist’ network.” He let out a hollow laugh. “Two million users compared to Zitter’s two billion. But still... I fed the beast.”

Lillian’s silence was deafening. The weight of it pressed down on Egon’s chest.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his gaze locked on hers. “For disowning you. For betraying you. I thought I could buy the world, but I lost everything that mattered.”

Lillian’s jaw tightened. “Words are just words, Dad. Time will tell if you’ve really changed.”

Egon nodded, his shoulders sagging. “I know. I know I can’t ask you to believe me right away.” His eyes flickered with something fragile yet determined. “But I want to show you... to do something real. I’m transferring five billion dollars into a charitable trust—in your name.”

Lillian’s eyes widened as she blinked in disbelief. “Five billion?”

“You’ll decide where it goes,” Egon said, his voice steady but pleading. “You can build something good... or fix what I broke. It’s yours. No strings.”

Lillian’s cheeks flushed with anger. She stood straighter, her voice cutting through the air. “You think you can buy me? Throw money at me like I’m some investment that’ll pay dividends?”

“Lillian, stop,” Gaye interjected, stepping between them. “Let him finish.”

Egon’s hands trembled as he held them up. “It’s not about buying you. It’s about making things right.” He turned to Gaye, his eyes filled with quiet desperation. “I was hoping you’d guide her. Help her navigate the business world. Not because I think she can’t do it—but because... I want us to be a family again.”

Lillian’s stance softened, but uncertainty lingered in her eyes. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “It still feels like a trap.”

Egon nodded. “Then you and Grandma can talk it over without me. I don’t want you to feel any pressure.”

The room fell silent, filled only with the distant hum of birds outside. A soft knock at the door broke the stillness. Two ashram attendants entered, balancing trays of food—steaming bowls of vegetable tikka masala, golden curry, and warm naan wrapped in cloth. The rich aroma of spices swirled through the air, soothing some of the tension.

Lillian hesitated, then sat down at the low table. She reached for a piece of naan and broke it in half. “Okay,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Let’s eat.”

Gaye exhaled slowly and followed suit, her smile faint but real. Egon’s breath hitched in relief as he lowered himself beside them.

As they passed around the dishes, Lillian’s voice cut through again. “I heard about Grump’s Christmas Eve party. The one with... the mushroom desserts.”

Egon froze, the naan halfway to his mouth. “Mushrooms? Again?”

Lillian nodded. “It’s all over the news. People hallucinating on live TV.”

Egon set the bread down, his face hardening. “This has to stop. Grump’s turning this madness into a dangerous spectacle.”

Vivek, who had been quietly observing, stepped forward. “It sounds like your time at the ashram is coming to an end.”

Egon met his gaze and nodded. “January 4th. We’ll fly back together.”

Lillian’s eyes met her father’s across the table. She studied him for a long moment before giving a small nod. “We’ll see if you can handle the real world again.”

Egon’s chest felt heavy, but the flicker of something stronger stirred within him—resolve. “I’ll stop Grump from doing any more damage,” he said, his voice low but unyielding.

For the first time in years, the words weren’t just a promise. They were a vow.

Tears welled in Gaye’s eyes as she reached for Egon’s hand, her grip strong and steady. The warmth of family surrounded him, fragile yet fierce.

And somewhere deep within, a long-forgotten part of Egon dared to believe that redemption was possible.