I woke up early on Monday morning in my apartment and checked my phone for any messages. Surprisingly, there were none. Before putting the phone back on my bedside stand and contemplating a few more hours of sleep, I noticed what date it was – First of May. It was my mother’s birthday and the birthday of Charlie. They were born on the same day, which my mother had taken as a blessing from above, and the day was always special in Maple Grove House. We would have a grand party, and my mother would take countless pictures with Charlie. For many years after Charlie’s disappearance, my mother stopped receiving her presents and would only celebrate his birthday. The number of candles on his favorite honey cake, which my mother and her sister Lucy would bake themselves, would be equal to the age of what he would have been. I would call her on this day no matter wherever I was or whatever the state of our relationship at that moment. Charlie’s birthday would negate all the arguments for one day and we would talk about him. I would aways end our conversation with Happy birthday, Mother to which she would always reply It’s not about me today, mon chéri, it’s about Charlie, and she would sometimes add, Thank you, though.
“Hello, Mother,” I said when she finally answered the phone. Sometimes it would take her ages to locate it.
“Good morning, mon chéri.” I could sense she was in one of her sad moods. “Nice to hear your voice … finally.”
“Happy birthday …to Charlie,” I said.
“Happy birthday to Charlie,” she said. “He would’ve been thirty-seven now.”
“Right.”
“Perhaps married with a few children.”
“Definitely,” I said following our usual routine of imagining what Charlie’s life would have been if he was alive. “He would probably have had a few dogs, cats, horses and snakes or something.” My list of Charlie’s imaginary pets had always put a smile on my mother’s face. I heard her chuckling, and I smiled. I didn’t want her to be too sad today. We chatted for a bit and ended our conversation with the usual lines. I felt that I had done something good today and deserved some decent news in return. And that’s exactly what I received.
It was in the afternoon when I received the anticipated update from Jared’s team. I was getting ready to meet some acquaintances I had met at a nightclub a few years ago—a fun bunch of people who enjoyed partying—who had promised there would be some women I might like. Jared’s assistant called to inform me that they had emailed the proposal’s outlines. She asked me to review it and, if I was willing to accept, to visit their office next week to review the paperwork and grant permission for their team to visit Maple Grove House for assessment work. I approved the visit right away and thanked her for the call.
The proposal's outlines were straightforward. Jared was willing to provide the necessary funds to build the cottages, but only after the project was successfully promoted and had secured at least two down payments. Essentially, I had to use my own money to get the project started, and he would invest once he saw progress. I wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement, but it was a clear sign of his interest. Given my situation, I felt compelled to roll the dice and accept it—beggars can’t be choosers, after all.
I called my lawyer, Mr. Goldberg, to discuss the deal. He wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about the terms either, but he admitted it was “definitely better than nothing, as long as you’re smart about it.” An old family friend, he knew me all too well. For him, this was good news; it signaled the end of my financial dry spell and, hopefully, meant he would finally get paid for his work.
He had been our family’s lawyer for over forty years. In fact, my grandfather had hired him to handle some paperwork back when he was still a law school student. Even after establishing his own firm, Goldberg and Associates—a respected name in the City—he continued to personally handle our affairs.
I asked him to join me for the meeting with Jared’s team. Having him by my side to catch any slips of the tongue gave me peace of mind.
“Let’s do everything right this time,” Mr. Goldberg said, reminding me of some of my decisions in the past that had been made in a hurry.
I had to let my parents know. They had never been too worried about money for the greater part of their lives. My father didn’t show much concern for it outwardly because, as he explained once, he was “an old-fashioned gentleman and it was vulgar to talk about it.” That, however, didn’t mean that he was a reckless spender. On the contrary, he was trying his best to preserve what had been left to him. He also had other investments in different parts of the country and often travelled to meet with his business partners when I was young. His business activities and the financial returns on his investments had significantly subsided over the years after Charlie’s disappearance because he had been neglecting the business side and focusing more on supporting my mother and, probably, inwardly, dealing with it himself.
Recently, despite the lack of a proven track of success on my side, he started to give me more opportunities, within certain financial limits, to help him with improving our financial situation and to teach me to “be accountable for my own actions and for the future of the family.” My mother had always trusted my father with all the financial decisions and didn’t want to spend her time “counting coins.”
I called them the next day. My father didn’t feel well, and I spoke to my mother. She tried to sound happy, but I could sense a bit of acting in her voice. She didn’t want to do anything with the house after Charlie had vanished. As far as she was concerned, I could sell the lot. I felt a bit disappointed that my idea hadn’t impressed her much, but I didn’t dwell on that too long because some good money was to be made, which was the most important thing, and my mother had never been interested in finances anyway. I was sure it would work this time.
Later that day, I had plans to spend time with Natasha and Christopher. Back in university, the ever-reliable Christopher had proven himself to be an excellent drinking companion and an expert in dealing with hangovers—two qualities I still greatly valued. Unlike James Harding, Christopher was a neat gentleman—trustworthy and a real pleasure to get drunk with. I hadn’t mentioned the deal to either of them. These were people who didn’t wear their hearts on their sleeves, and I had always been one of them.
Natasha had arranged for us to attend a charity event, announcing it during dinner at a French bistro.
“There’ll be plenty of people looking for opportunities to invest their money,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll meet someone useful.”
“And whom will we be giving our money to this time, darling?” Christopher asked, sipping his Old Fashioned. He enjoyed charity events, not only as a way to “give back,” but also because they were “great places to meet smart and educated people.” Unlike me, he loved engaging in meaningful conversations and learning new things.
“I’ll need to check my schedule,” I said, raising my index finger to preempt any sarcastic comments. “I mean it this time.” I turned to Natasha. “When is this wonderful event of yours happening?”
She finished her Champagne cocktail before answering. “Tomorrow.” This time, it was her turn to raise a finger. “I know it’s short notice but do try to make it. I promise you won’t regret it.” She raised her eyebrows with a smile. “There’ll be an open bar.”
***
The next day, Christopher and I presented ourselves at the venue, properly dressed and groomed. Since it was a black-tie event, I chose my deep double-breasted Tom Ford tuxedo with wide lapels and a custom-made white dress shirt from Charvet—a luxury investment in a masterpiece of shirt-making, appreciated by the likes of Sir Winston Churchill and Napoleon Bonaparte long before me. I was pleased to see that Christopher looked dashing, like a movie star, in his tux from Henry Poole & Co., which slimmed his torso and broadened his shoulders.
Just as we were about to compliment each other on our sartorial choices, Natasha appeared in a spectacular black maxi dress with an open-back detail and an asymmetric neckline. I couldn’t identify the brand of the dress, but it didn’t matter—she was stunning. Her diamond chandelier earrings added a sparkling touch to her striking look.
“Glad you both could make it,” she said after completing her obligatory red-carpet photo session. She pecked us on the cheeks. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
“May we just take a moment to compliment you before we start networking?” I said, kissing her hand. “You look amazing.” I turned to Christopher. “Doesn’t she?”
“Absolutely,” he agreed, taking his turn to kiss Natasha’s hand.
“Thank you,” she replied, glancing at someone behind us. “Oh, that’s the gentleman I’d like you to meet.”
We turned.
“He’s a billionaire from the States who moved to the City a few months ago,” Natasha explained. “His name is—”
“Jared Shannon,” I finished.
“You know him then?” Natasha’s disappointment at my ruining her surprise was evident as she pursed her lips.
“How do you know him?” I asked, watching Jared wave to Natasha and make a beeline toward us.
“Oh, we met at an event a few weeks ago. You know, I meet this kind of people to—oh, hello, Jared.” She opened her arms for a hug and greeted the man in a fine tuxedo—the man I hoped would be my way out of impending financial disaster. The fact that they were already on a first-name basis felt a tad unsettling.
“May I introduce my friends to you?” Natasha said after finally releasing Jared from her hospitable, if slightly clingy, embrace.
“I think I know at least one of them,” Jared said, extending his hand for a handshake. “How are you, Alex?”
I shook his hand. “Fine, thank you.” I gestured toward Christopher. “This is my friend, Christopher Deven.”
“It’s Baron Christopher Deven,” Natasha corrected me with a friendly but slightly judgmental shake of her head.
“Christopher’s fine,” Christopher said, saving me from the faux pas. He shook Jared’s hand with a smile.
“How are you doing, Christopher?” Jared asked before turning to Natasha. “I didn’t know you’d be bringing guests tonight.”
“These two needed a bit of fresh air,” Natasha said.
We all laughed politely—the kind of laugh people give when they have nothing meaningful to say.
“I’ll just escort my friends to the table,” Natasha said, taking Christopher and me by the hands. “We’ll see you later at the after-party, won’t we?”
“There’s an after-party after this?” Jared asked, laughing.
“There always is,” Natasha replied with a smile.
“Enjoy the event,” Jared said. “I don’t think I’ll be joining the party.”
He nodded at us with a smile before walking toward a group of young people who greeted him excitedly. I was relieved he hadn’t mentioned our little deal; I wasn’t ready to make it public just yet.
“You seem to know him quite well,” I said as we reached our table. I pulled out Natasha’s chair for her.
“It pays well to know people like Jared Shannon,” she said, opening the menu. “Let’s see what we’ll be paying for tonight.”
“Speaking of which, what is this charity for anyway?” Christopher asked as he took his seat.
“And where’s that open bar?” I added, looking around for the more pressing matter.
The event went well. We left a couple of hours later, having taken full advantage of the open bar while donating some money to…well, I couldn’t even remember what the charity was for by the time we got to the after-party. One thing, however, stuck in my mind: I didn’t particularly like the way Jared looked at Natasha. But I couldn’t blame him for being smitten by her beauty either.
***
A week later, Mr. Goldberg and I were in a big meeting room with Jared’s team in charge, getting ready to iron out any wrinkles in the deal if necessary. This was when a young lady walked in and announced the new offer their boss was ready to put on the table. She put it quite succinctly and yet extremely comprehensively: Jared would double his investment in the project, giving me more funds to make my small cottage community even better and thus attract more clients down the line, if we made one more deal—sell the house. He wanted Maple Grove House. His team had done the necessary assessment of the house’s condition when they were on the property checking the future construction site last week. The sum he was offering was very generous, and he was eager to close the deal as soon as possible.
“What does he want the house for?” Mr. Goldberg asked me when we were out on the street.
“You heard her: ‘Mr. Shannon would like to give back to the community he was once a part of by restoring the house to its former glory and converting it into a cultural space for educational purposes.’”
“What on earth does that mean?”
“Beats me. Whatever it is, he’s willing to pay top dollar for it.”
“You still need to start the project with your money, though.”
“Yes, but there’ll be much more later. We just need to get a few offers, and we’re golden.”
“If you get those offers.”
I smiled. Mr. Goldberg was a very cautious man. I tapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
We walked to the parking lot and stopped by Mr. Goldberg’s Range Rover.
“I didn’t know the house was for sale in the first place. Your parents had been keeping it and hoping that one day you’d have a family, and you know…”
Charlie would be found alive, and we would all go back to being a happy family in a big house.
“…you know what I mean,” Mr. Goldberg said, getting his keys. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it wasn’t for sale. Until now, I suppose. I mean, it’s been empty for more than a quarter of a century.”
He unlocked the car, and we both got in.
“You aren’t seriously thinking about that preposterous offer, are you?”
“Well, it will be nice to have more cash for the project, but I need to speak to my father about this.”
“You bet you do,” Mr. Goldberg said, starting the engine. “Say hello to him from me and be sure to let me know the outcome of that conversation.”