Millionaires for the Month

by Stacy McAnulty

  “I am worried,” he mumbled.

  “Felix, you may be the millionaire, but I’m the adult.”

  “You’re not acting like an adult!” He hated himself for saying that, but how else could he get through to her? “Half the time we go to the store, you can’t even afford potato chips. And now you’re quitting your job. That’s stupid.”

  “Watch it!” She held up a finger in warning. “If you want potato chips, you can buy potato chips. With your money. Please don’t act like you’re starving and homeless.”

  “If you quit your job, I might be.” And if we don’t win this challenge, I one hundred percent will be.

  “Enough, Felix!” she yelled, and he flinched. She pressed her fingertips to her eyes and shook her head. His mom never raised her voice. Neither of them knew how to react. They stood silently for what felt like ten minutes.

  “Finish getting ready for school,” she finally said.

  “Okay.” He pulled Freebie toward the door. “I’m sorry, Mom.” But please don’t quit your job.

  “I will always do what is best for us, Felix. I hope you know that.”

  He nodded without looking back. How could she do what was best when she didn’t know what was really happening?

  Freebie and Felix rode the elevator down to the first floor. The dog sat patiently until the doors slid open. Then he dragged Felix across the lobby and outside to his favorite small patch of grass near the Grand Regency sign.

  As Freebie sniffed for the perfect spot, Felix heard someone call his name.

  “Felix. Felix. How much money have you spent?” A man was recording Felix and Freebie on a cell phone.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Have you invested any of the money? Have you given any to charity? Are you wasting it all?” The man hurled question after question.

  Felix focused on Freebie, who was squatting in the number two position. Felix reached into his coat pocket for a plastic baggie to pick it up.

  Ugh. He’d forgotten a poop bag.

  “Come on, Freebie.” Felix tugged on the leash. He needed to get out of there.

  “You just going to leave that?” the man asked. “Do you care about anything?”

  “Um…I don’t have a bag,” Felix replied.

  “You could use a hundred-dollar bill.” The man laughed and kept the camera focused on Felix.

  “Hey! Hey!” Felix turned to see Reggie jogging toward them. “Leave the kid alone.”

  “We’re just talking.” The man held up his hands. “I’m from the Daily Beat.”

  “Felix, let’s go.” Reggie put an arm over Felix’s shoulder and led him back inside the hotel. “You good, boss?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” Felix motioned toward the elevator. “I’m going to check on Benji.”

  Felix needed to talk to him. Benji would make a joke about the reporter. He’d think the billionaire brats videos were funny (and he’d be impressed that Felix bought the domain name). He’d suggest they hire a plane and have BBQ in North Carolina for dinner. He’d promise that they’d still win the penny-doubled challenge, and that Felix’s mom’s decision to quit was no biggie. We’ve got over a week and less than a million left. Relax, buddy.

  Felix stepped off the elevator on the fifteenth floor, knowing Benji would make him feel better. If they could just talk for two minutes. But when Felix knocked, no one answered.

  Benji

  Benji “agreed” to the Monday lunch meeting because he didn’t have a choice. Maybe this would make his parents happy. Nothing he did ever seemed to. That was true before the money and doubly true after. But maybe on December 2, they’d understand.

  His mom sat to his left, his dad to his right, and across from him was Mr. Rubin—a financial adviser. Benji had lied and told Mr. Rubin they had three million left in their bank account. He flashed him a screenshot of the banking app from last week and played it off like today’s balance. And as Benji ate a salad drenched in ranch, then chicken and rice, and then sorbet for dessert, the man explained how, with the right strategy, Benji could pay for his education and retire by the age of thirty.

  Who wants to work until they’re thirty?

  But Benji politely nodded and listened and kept most of his attention on his dad, who smiled every time Mr. Rubin said annuity, or compound interest, or low-risk.

  As the adults drank coffee, Mr. Rubin took a phone call and excused himself from the table.

  “We should have had this meeting on the first day,” Benji’s dad said, folding his hands on the white tablecloth.

  Benji nodded like a bobblehead doll on a dashboard.

  “But better late than never. We can move the money to a Flyers Account this afternoon.” His dad stared hard, like he knew Benji was going to object.

  “I don’t think I’m allowed to transfer money,” Benji reminded his dad.

  “My lawyer disagrees. If the money is in your name, it can’t be held hostage by a financial institution or anyone else, including Laura Friendly. We’re going to the bank now.”

  “Not today. Um…I should go to school.” He wanted to see Felix.

  “Let’s do it before we leave for Aruba.” His mom folded her napkin and placed it on the table. “Get everything taken care of so we can enjoy our Thanksgiving break.”

  “Fine. Let’s go.” Benji stood up, and the water glasses rattled. He didn’t want to play this game anymore.

  Less than thirty minutes later, they were at the bank. The four of them sat in the office with the bank manager, who explained that Benji could not make a withdrawal. Shocker!

  “I’m sorry,” the manager said, without sounding sorry at all. (He had sounded sorry the first seven times he had said it.)

  “It’s my client’s money,” Mr. Rubin said.

  “It’s a custodial account,” the manager explained again.

  “We’ve hired a lawyer,” Benji’s dad threatened.

  “It doesn’t matter. Come back with a lawyer. Come back with a team of lawyers. The only way you will get access to the money is if you come back with masks and guns.” He swore under his breath and then apologized. Bank managers were probably not supposed to suggest armed robbery as a way of doing business. “Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

  Tuesday, November 23

  Benji and his parents waited at gate B48 for their evening flight to Aruba. He could have flown them in a private jet, but no way would they have agreed to that.

  His parents still hadn’t given Benji back his phone. It was home on the counter. This was part of his punishment—no phone, no computer, no contact with anyone in the outside world. And no debit card.

  When his dad went to get Starbucks, Benji took the opportunity to appeal to his mom. He needed to call Felix. She frowned at first and then handed over her phone.

  “Hello?” Felix answered.

  “Hey, buddy. It’s me.” Benji wandered out of his mom’s eavesdropping zone.

  “Where are you? You haven’t spent any money since the wedding.”

  Felix’s first thought is always money. No How are you? Everything okay? Benji tried not to take it personally.

  “I’m at the airport. We’re going to Aruba for Thanksgiving. Tradition,” Benji explained.

  “Everything is falling apart,” Felix said. “Mr. Palomino demanded we stop the pizza and tacos, doughnuts, everything. I think it’s because of the video from the wedding. Have you seen it?”

  “Yeah.” Benji stood in front of a large window and watched workers load suitcases into the belly of an airplane.

  “I skipped basketball practice today to see Mr. Trulz and get a new debit card because my mom took away the original one. I probably lost my place on the team. Then I went to rent a blimp, and it was too windy to take it up.”

  Benji snorted.<
br />
  “Are you laughing?” Felix asked.

  “No.”

  “It’s not funny,” Felix said. “My mom quit her job at the warehouse.”

  “You’re right. None of this is funny.” Benji leaned his forehead against the cold glass. His parents thought he was the world’s biggest screw-up. Everyone saw the boys as selfish jerks. Benji really just wanted it all to be over.

  “Don’t you get it? I have to win. My family needs this money.”

  “I get it! What if we just tell our parents but swear them to secrecy?” Benji suggested. It was the most obvious solution, even if it was bending (okay, breaking) a rule.

  “No.” Felix sighed into the phone. “I’ll figure this out on my own. We’ve only got about nine hundred thousand left. Just don’t tell anyone. Don’t mess this up.”

  “I won’t.” What’s another seven days of my parents thinking I’m the world’s biggest screw-up? Benji looked across the crowded airport. His dad was back at their seats. He pointed at Benji and motioned for him to rejoin them. Benji turned away quickly, pretending not to notice.

  “And you don’t have to do it alone,” Benji continued. “I’ll be back Sunday. We’ll skip school. Fly to Hawaii and blow the rest of the money. We’ll win, Felix.” Benji tried to sound believable.

  “Okay,” Felix replied softly. “I’ll see you on Sunday.”

  Benji felt a tap on his shoulder.

  “Gotta go.” Benji hung up the phone and turned to face his dad. Strangely, his dad didn’t look upset or even disappointed. He tilted his head and smiled.

  Benji handed over the phone. “What’s going on?”

  His dad held up a folded newspaper and pointed to an article.

  “The band—Apex-7—they’re refunding your money. Most of it, anyway. They’re keeping a few thousand for expenses, but they’re returning over one million dollars. I think the social-media pressure got to them. They took advantage of a couple of naive kids. That’s not the publicity anyone wants.”

  “That’s good news,” Benji said through gritted teeth. “Can I call Felix and tell him?”

  “No. You two need a break from each other. He seems like a decent kid, but together you’re trouble.”

  Wrong, Benji thought. We’re not trouble. We’re in trouble.

  Felix

  Felix’s mom insisted on cooking Thanksgiving dinner in their apartment, even though the hotel offered an all-you-can-eat buffet. And with Georgie and Michelle in Vermont, she was happy to extend the guest list. Felix invited Reggie—who felt like family—and Laura Friendly. He needed to try one more time to get her to change the rules. His mom had quit one of her jobs, and Apex-7 had returned over a million dollars.

  The guests arrived at noon. Laura Friendly showed up with a massive bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine.

  “I have two rules for my Thanksgiving dinner,” Felix’s mom said. “Number one: no talk of money.”

  “I like that rule,” Ms. Friendly replied, and winked at Felix.

  “And the other rule, we start with dessert.” His mom led Laura Friendly to the counter and offered her a slice of apple or pumpkin pie and a glass of wine.

  “This rule is even better.” Ms. Friendly took a small slice of each.

  After they finished first dessert, Felix helped put the finishing touches on dinner. His mom would not allow their guests in the kitchen. Felix mashed potatoes and set out dishes.

  Then they all gathered around their small table with its mismatched chairs. They had so much food that not all of it fit. They rotated platters from the counter to the table and back. Eating and laughing. Felix snuck pieces of turkey to Freebie. And he caught Laura Friendly sharing her roll with the dog too.

  After they’d eaten enough for eight people, cleared the table, and loaded the dishwasher, Felix grabbed Freebie’s leash.

  “Walking the dog? May I join you?” Ms. Friendly asked. “I need some exercise.”

  “Sure.”

  They walked behind the apartment buildings to the trail that circled the pond and picnic area.

  “Thank you for inviting me,” Ms. Friendly said. “This was nice.”

  “You’re welcome. What do you normally do on Thanksgiving?”

  She heavy-sighed. “Go to my sister’s place. She has a lovely home in South Carolina, a lovely husband, three lovely kids, and a not-so-lovely cat.”

  “And she didn’t invite you?”

  “No, she invited me.” She waved the air in front of her face like bugs were swarming. “Without our father around, it’s just not the same.”

  “I’ve never spent a holiday with my dad.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” She blew on her hands. “I was lucky. My father was a big part of my life. He made sure I didn’t work through holidays. He’d be my plus-one for events. I could talk to him about anything. And when he passed away a year and a half ago, I wasn’t there for him.”

  Felix stayed quiet, not sure what to say.

  “We’d set up hospice care, and they made him comfortable. But I was out of the country for work and didn’t make it back in time. I said my final goodbye to him on the phone, but I don’t know if he heard me.” Laura Friendly shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets. “Fortunately, my sister was there. But if I was granted a do-over—if I could buy a do-over—I’d be there at his side.”

  “I guess not even billionaires get do-overs.”

  “Nope.” She shook her head.

  They walked back in silence. Felix couldn’t think of an easy way to bring up the money and the challenge.

  When they got inside the apartment, they played Would You Rather…, but a Reggie-created philosophy version.

  Would you rather be happy or knowledgeable?

  Would you rather love or be loved (assuming you can’t have both)?

  Would you rather a world without hate or a world without lies?

  It might have been the worst game ever, and with each question, Felix could imagine Benji groaning. Then they played Monopoly, which, surprisingly, Laura Friendly was terrible at.

  “Monopolies are illegal. I don’t want to be good at this game.” Then she borrowed five hundred dollars from Felix so she wouldn’t go bankrupt.

  After second dessert, Laura Friendly announced that she had to leave. She needed to be in London the next day. It wasn’t a holiday overseas.

  “Thank you again, Karen,” Ms. Friendly said to Felix’s mom. “You’re a brilliant woman. Everyone should start with dessert first.”

  His mom laughed. “Anytime.”

  Felix walked with Laura Friendly out of the building. He didn’t want to ruin their Thanksgiving, but he had to try to get her to understand what was happening.

  “She quit her job,” Felix blurted out.

  “Excuse me?” Ms. Friendly stopped walking.

  “My mom quit one of her jobs because she thinks I’m a millionaire,” Felix explained. “And we’re not going to win your challenge. We have almost one-point-nine million to spend, parents breathing down our necks, and we’re an internet joke.”

  She held up a finger. “Your mom said no talking about money.” He couldn’t tell if she was serious.

  “I want to renegotiate,” Felix said. “Just let us keep the rest of the money without having to spend it. Benji and I will split it.”

  Laura Friendly clicked her tongue, and Felix knew the answer before she spoke.

  “Is this why you invited me to dinner?”

  “No.” His voice got lost in his throat. It wasn’t the only reason.

  She frowned. “Felix, I cannot change the rules.”

  “Of course you can. Just let us withdraw—”

  “Can’t be done. I set it up with my lawyers. I made it so no one—myself included—could change the rules
. You can spend the money, but you cannot withdraw it and move it to another account.”

  “We’ll buy stock or a house and then sell it—”

  “You can’t.” She shook her head. “You signed a contract. The lawyers will seize all assets you have after December first. Leonard Trulz’s job depends on it. He will not be paid if any rules are broken. He has a bonus structure tied to the successful conclusion of this venture.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If Trulz allows the game to continue after rules have been broken, he will not be paid a bonus of five hundred thousand dollars.” She didn’t look proud of this condition. “It’s honestly out of my hands.”

  “Well, then just give us a million dollars,” Felix snapped. “You could write a check right now.”

  Laura Friendly flinched like she’d been hit. “And why would I do that?”

  “Because we’re friends.” Felix stared her in the eyes.

  “I don’t like your definition of a friend.” She ducked into the open town car, and the driver closed the door.

  Felix stood in the cold without his jacket. He tried to think of something he could say to Ms. Friendly. Did he owe her an apology? Everything was so messed up. He’d just asked her for a million dollars. Who does that? When kids at school asked him to buy them Nintendos or iPhones, it made him feel lousy. They were only interested in his debit card. At times, he was thankful for the no-gift rule. He couldn’t buy them things, and that meant he didn’t have to wrestle with the decision.

  The back window of the car lowered. Felix stepped closer.

  “You have almost two million dollars and a week to do whatever you want,” she continued.

  That’s not true.

  “Why not enjoy the next few days and the last few dollars? Next Thursday, your life will return to normal. You are Cinderella at the ball. Stop thinking about what happens after midnight.”

  The window closed, and the town car drove off.

  You’re wrong. Felix sat on the curb alone. My life will never go back to normal.