They walked through Morrison Park, following the winding paths past gardens and water features. The evening was cool but pleasant, and Brandon noticed Margaret seemed to relax with each step away from whatever was waiting for her at home.
"I read about this park when it opened," Margaret said, pausing to look at some wildflowers. "The article said an anonymous donor paid for the whole thing. Should've known it was you."
"The neighborhood needed green space. I had the money to make it happen."
Margaret smiled. "You've changed so much since I first met you, but you're still the same guy who helped me carry groceries that first time you visited."
"God, I remember that day. Richard had just hired me. I was so nervous I kept dropping stuff everywhere."
"You were adorable. Victoria acted like she was doing you this huge favor by introducing you to us." Margaret's expression darkened. "I should've warned you what you were getting into."
"You tried. You were always kind to me, which was more than anyone else in that house."
They found a small café near the park that was still open. Brandon ordered coffee and pastries while Margaret grabbed a corner booth away from the few other customers.
"So what've you been up to these past few years?" Brandon asked after they got their drinks. "Besides the treatments, I mean."
Margaret wrapped her hands around her coffee cup. "Honestly? Not much. Richard doesn't like me going out, and Victoria only visits when she needs something. Most days it's just me, my books, and the garden."
Brandon felt anger rising but kept his face neutral. "That sounds lonely as hell."
"It is. Sometimes I go days without talking to anyone for real. Richard's either working or drinking, and when he's home, he's usually pissed about business stuff."
"Problems he created himself," Brandon pointed out.
"Yeah, but he'll never see it that way. The way he tells it, you destroyed Carter Tech through some kind of betrayal, not just by having better products."
Brandon took a sip of coffee. "Richard's tried multiple times to screw with my companies through his political connections. None of it worked because our stuff is actually better."
Margaret looked troubled but not surprised. "I'm sorry he's been like that. The man I married twenty years ago wouldn't have done half this stuff, but success changed him into someone I barely recognize."
"You deserve better than living in that mess."
"I'm forty years old with no income and no real work history outside volunteer stuff," Margaret said matter-of-factly. "Leaving isn't as simple as just walking out, even if I wanted to blow up my whole life."
Brandon leaned forward. "Margaret, if you ever decide you want out, I've got resources that could help. A place to stay, money, lawyers—whatever you'd need to get on your feet."
Margaret's eyes widened with surprise and something like hope before reality kicked back in. "Brandon, I can't take that kind of help from you. Richard would see it as you trying to humiliate him more, and Victoria would never forgive me."
"Does their opinion matter more than your safety?"
Margaret stared into her coffee for a long moment. "It's not about their opinions. It's that they still have the power to make my life hell in ways you can't necessarily stop."
Brandon got it—she was weighing the risks of change against the pain of staying, knowing that sometimes familiar misery felt safer than jumping into the unknown.
"I'm not trying to push you into anything," he said more gently. "Just want you to know you've got options if you ever decide you want something different."
Margaret reached across and squeezed his hand briefly. "Thanks. Just knowing someone gives a damn about me means more than you know."
They talked for another hour, avoiding the heavy stuff while sharing stories about books, travel, and old dreams. Brandon told her about his company's clean energy work and medical research, while Margaret described the garden she'd built in what used to be dead land at the Carter property.
"You should see the roses this year," she said, actually excited. "I've been working on hybrid varieties that bloom almost continuously from April through October."
"I'd love to see them sometime," Brandon said, though they both knew visiting the Carter house was impossible.
When the café started closing, they walked back through the park to where Margaret had parked her car. The streets were quiet except for occasional traffic.
"Thanks for tonight," Margaret said as they reached her sedan. "Can't remember the last time I had a conversation this normal."
"We should do this more often. If you're comfortable with it, I mean. Maybe regular coffee or lunch, somewhere nobody would recognize us."
Margaret hesitated, torn between wanting it and being cautious. "I'd like that, but I'm worried about what happens if Richard finds out."
"He won't unless you tell him. And even if he does, so what? You're allowed to have friends."
"You don't know how vindictive he gets when he feels threatened."
Brandon thought about the bruise on her face and felt his anger return. "Actually, I do. I dealt with his vindictive crap for years before I got out. But Margaret, you can't spend your whole life scared of how he might react to you having normal human interactions."
She smiled sadly. "You're right. It's just hard to break patterns after so long."
"Start small then. Coffee next week. Same time, same place. Just two old friends catching up."
Margaret unlocked her car but paused. "Alright. Next Thursday evening, if that works."
"It's a date," Brandon said, then quickly added, "A friend coffee date. Not a romantic thing."
Margaret laughed—genuine and warm, making Brandon realize how rare it was to hear her laugh. "I got what you meant. But thanks for clarifying anyway."
As she drove away, Brandon stood in the empty lot, feeling more satisfied than he had celebrating his company's anniversary with Seattle's elite. For the first time in years, he'd spent an evening focused on someone else's wellbeing instead of strategy and business.
Walking back to his mansion, Brandon reflected on how strange it was that reconnecting with Margaret felt more meaningful than all the champagne and congratulations earlier. Success had given him the resources to help people, but it couldn't create the genuine connections that made those resources feel worthwhile.
Maybe that was the next thing he needed to figure out—not how to build bigger companies or make more money, but how to make sure his life had the kind of real relationships that made everything else feel like more than just numbers on a screen.
As the gates opened to let him in, Brandon made a mental note to keep his Thursday evenings clear. Some things were worth more than any business meeting.