Page 78 of State of Ruin

It’s about getting one over on someone.

It’s about never, ever letting someone else win against the Vosses.

A few of the many names, if you want them: Carter George, Lena Kowalczyk, Antonio D’Angelo.

(Elizabeth asked what I intend to do about Carter and the others besides feel terrible on paper. Fair point. Working on it.)

December 5

Today, Elizabeth and I talked about why I paid you for those first two Alchemy sessions (and why I tried to pay you for the ones at my apartment). I assumed it was because I had some fucked-up, entitled need to make my money talk where my charms couldn’t. To back you into a corner, maybe. And I think there was an element of that.

But she had another theory. She said it was less about my seeing you as purchasable and more about my being unable to tolerate an unpriced encounter: that if money changed hands, I didn’t have to run the risk of finding out whether I’d be chosen for free. According to her, I probably never have been chosen for myself. More for my name and my money.

But I don’t know. This all sounds awfully like “poor little rich boy” to me. What do you think? (Don’t answer that. You don’t owe me your insight.)

December 7

Confession corner:

Three years ago, I gave one of my best strategists a seriously lukewarm reference to stop him from getting a job he wanted. The job wasn’t even at a competitor—it was as a lecturer at NYU. He was burned out and wanted a change of pace.

He didn’t get the job.

He did, however, end up being signed off sick a couple months later with burnout and depression. He never came back to Voss.

December 9

Confession corner:

My brother’s wife (the marriage Mom and Dad and her parents strong-armed him into) has been in love with another woman for years. My siblings and I all know. She doesn’t hide it from us. My brother is fine with it—he doesn’t love her either—but neither of them has any clue of how to extricate themselves from the marriage. They’re both that terrified of their parents. It’s so fucked up.

(I have her blessing to share this with you, by the way.)

December 10

I’ve never broken up with a woman myself. I’ve always had my assistant do it with a brief phone call and a token couriered from Cartier. The longer you’ve lasted, the nicer the jewelry. It’s like a mini divorce settlement, every time. “Thank you for your time and I’m sorry for your trouble.”

You’re actually the first woman who’s broken up with me. When you consider how badly I treat my fellow humans, that’s quite something, isn’t it? I think it’s a combination of factors: most of the women I’ve dated don’t know how rotten my soul is. Some of them don’t want to know. And others don’t care—or it’s a small price to pay for dating a Voss. Because, let’s be honest, it’s not my soul they’re attracted to, is it?

I fucking love that you’re not like them. That you had the self-respect to kick me to the curb like the piece of dogshit that I am.

December 11

Today I had to go into the office for a quarterly board meeting. I was borderline panicky—I felt like the longer I stayed holed up with all my yes-men the quicker I would undo the work I’m doing back here. So I came right back and jumped in the Sound so I could wash Manhattan off my skin.

(The beard did not go over well at work. I got more than one Unabomber reference.)

December 15

My darling Elyse,

Did I mention therapy is brutal???

Here’s what I learned about myself today:

I was never that fucked-up rich kid who crashed the BMW Daddy bought him or shoplifted for attention. I was a model teenager, a straight-A student. I knew, on some level, that my parents, and their parents, and their social circle, were full of shit, but here’s the thing: I went along with it anyway. My siblings and I laugh at my parents behind their back. We roll our eyes and revel in our superiority, but we take the jobs and the money and the status that our name gives us. And honestly, that feels worse to me than blindly going along with it all.

And here’s more psychobabble: okay, bear with me, because I find this shit hard to get my head around, and even harder to admit to on paper. I can’t imagine what you must think of me. But here goes: