ONLY A BUSINESS DECISION BY BEN MACNAIR The rain was coming down in sheets. A successful businessman known for his sharp suits and sharper deals, gripped the wheel of his expensive sedan. He was late. Terribly late. His biggest deal of the year hung in the balance. He sped through the downpour, the city lights blurring into streaks of color. Then, a flash of movement. Something darted out in front of him – a person, a shadow in the gloom. Brakes screeched, tires squealed, and the world seemed to slow. There was a sickening thud. He slammed on the brakes, his heart leaping into his throat. He'd hit someone. He cautiously got out of the car, the rain washing over him, making his expensive suit dark and damp. The street was deserted, the only sound the rhythmic drumming of rain on the pavement. He found the figure lying still in the puddle beside his car. Fear clawed at him. He wasn’t a violent man. He had a family. His meticulously built life felt as though it was crumbling around him. He approached the figure cautiously, his breath hitching in his throat. The person was still, unmoving. Panic tightened its grip. He knew he had to call for help. But a strange thought crossed his mind. He looked around, the empty street stretching before him, shrouded in rain and darkness. No witnesses. He could drive away. No one would know. The thought, a horrifying whisper, was a stark contrast to the responsible, upstanding citizen he presented to the world. The image of the body, lifeless in the street, haunted him. His mind raced, creating scenarios, each one more terrifying than the last. He looked at his watch again. His meeting. His deal. His future. The weight of it pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating. Then, the person coughed. A weak, rasping sound. Relief washed over him, so intense it was almost painful. He knelt beside the figure, his heart still pounding. He checked for a pulse. A weak but steady pulse. He should call for help, and yet he hesitated again. What if this pedestrian was part of some elaborate scheme? What if this was a trap? His phone felt heavy in his hand. He was certain he'd made a terrible mistake, but he didn't know if he was wrong to call the police. Calling the ambulance seemed a little less risky. Yet, he still hesitated. He was trapped in a terrible, moral conflict. The rain kept falling, relentless, a mirror to the storm raging inside him. He had to make a choice. A choice that would determine the rest of his life. No. 138
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