by Ellie Danes
I put my smoothie down and went over to him and gave him a tight, reassuring hug. “Listen, Matthew,” I said, my arm around his shoulder as emotion rocked through me. “Listen, it's not a foregone conclusion, all right? The prognosis is not great, I admit, but it's not written in stone, do you hear me? Nothing is set in stone. There's a chance that he'll pull through, and we have to have hope. He needs you—he needs us both—to be strong right now.”
Matthew nodded and wiped his eyes. “I know,” he said, still choked up with emotion. “It's just hard, man.”
“Man, let's take the rest of the day off,” I said. “The code can wait until tomorrow. I don't think either of us is in any condition to concentrate now anyway.”
“You're right about that,” he conceded.
“Come on, let's go have a few beers and play some video games, all right? Distract ourselves from things for a while.”
He nodded and smiled. “Yeah, that might be good.”
“I'll go take a shower,” I said to him, “and you can come up to my place whenever you're ready.”
He nodded. “Send me a message when you're done showering and stuff.”
“Okay,” I said. “And remember, Matthew, you're a brother to me. Anything you need, anything at all, don't hesitate to ask, all right?”
“Thanks, Jace,” he murmured. “Thank you. I'll see you a little later.”
I nodded, gave him one more hug and then headed out to the elevators.
As I got in, my phone started to ring. I got it out and saw that it was my great-aunt Barbara. I didn't want to speak to her right now, but I knew that there would be hell to pay if I ignored the call. With a sigh, I answered it.
“Hi Aunt Barbara,” I said. “How are you?”
“Busy,” she said flatly. “Listen, I've arranged for you to attend a merger negotiation meeting between two big corporations in Long Island the day after tomorrow. I'm a major shareholder in one of them, and I’m sending you as my representative.”
“But Aunt Barbara, I—”
“Do you want to learn to become an effective CEO or not, Everett?”
“I do, yes,” I mumbled.
“Then you'll take my advice and you'll attend this meeting as an observer. Good afternoon, dear.”
There was a click as she hung up the call, and that was that. Now I had to rearrange this week’s schedule.
But whatever else happened, this evening was dedicated to Matthew. He needed my help, and I was determined to give it to him. And nobody, not even Aunt Barbara, was going to stop that.
And if a certain dark-haired woman was in my thoughts, she would have to wait. As I turned on the water for my shower, I cursed myself for not getting her phone number when I had the chance.
Chapter 7
Marie
I pulled into the driveway of Isaac's place, parking the BMW in the same spot it had been parked in before. As I got out, the image of Jace's face popped into my head, and I felt a momentary flash of something rush through me. Who was this guy? I realized I didn't know anything about him, not what he did, not where he came from, not even his last name—but I just couldn't stop thinking about him.
“Whoever you are, Jace, you're really getting under my skin,” I mumbled to myself as I walked up to the front door and knocked.
“Is that you, Miss Benton?” a now familiar voice called out from within.
“It is, Mr. Wallace.”
“And you've brought me my dinner?”
“I have, yes.”
“Then come on in.”
I walked in, carrying the bag of food from Plant Power. A mouthwatering aroma wafted from the bag, and even though I had felt very skeptical about the whole thing, I found myself wondering if the food was going to taste as good as it smelled. If the lovely aroma was anything to go by, I was in for a tasty meal.
“Come, let's go eat on the porch,” Isaac said as I walked into his reading room. “It's where my Irma and I used to eat, back when she was still around.”
“Irma was your wife?” I asked.
He nodded, and a sad smile came across his face. “For fifty-three years, we were together, she and I. Fifty-three wonderful years. I thank the Lord every day for those years, even though I'm sometimes mad at Him for taking her away.”
I was genuinely impressed. Fifty-three years with someone was pretty much a lifetime. “That's amazing,” I said. “My parents have been married for thirty years, and I thought that was a long time.”
He chuckled warmly as he heaved himself up out of his chair. “You'd be surprised at how quickly those years fly by, Miss Benton. One moment, you're sharing your first kiss, the next you're walking down the aisle, and then in the blink of an eye, you're suddenly both old and gray, wondering where all the years went.”
“You two didn't have any children?” I asked as he shuffled out onto the porch in front of me.
He shook his head sadly. “She couldn't,” he said. “Medical issue, you see. My family urged me to leave her, to find a woman who could give me children, but I refused. Irma was the one I loved, the only one for me. And if God had decided that she and I couldn't have children, well I was fine with that.”
Wow. I was even more impressed now. Something like that would have been a deal breaker for many people. Not for Jackson “Isaac” Wallace, though. “Well, you must have made the right choice then, Mr. Wallace,” I said, “seeing as you two were together for so many decades.”
“Oh, I did, I did. And not once did I ever look back or have any regrets. No sir, not once, not ever. Those years I had with her were more valuable to me than any investment I ever made, any deal I ever brokered, any company I ever had shares in. All that, it's fine and dandy for a man to occupy his time with and dedicate his energy to, but in the end, none of it really matters. Love is what really matters.”
He looked up at me, a playful sparkle in his eyes.
“You must be quite surprised to hear someone like me say something like that, I'll wager.”
I laughed. “I . . . yes, actually I am a little surprised.”
“Yes, yes,” he said with a laugh, “even someone like Isaac Wallace, investing tycoon, needs love. And the older you get, the more you realize how important it is.”
“It is, I know that,” I said.
We sat down and I took his box of pesto pasta out.
“Should I go and get some plates and cutlery from inside?” I asked. I assumed someone like him wouldn't want to eat out of takeout containers.
Surprisingly, he shook his head. “No, no, that'd just mean more washing to do later, and my domestic helper has taken the day off. And besides, the food tastes as good, no matter what you eat it out of.”
I smiled. Isaac Wallace was a lot more relaxed and laid back than I had imagined him to be. First impressions could definitely be wrong.
“All right,” I said, pulling up my chair to the table on the porch and getting my burger and fries out of the bag. “Oh, and I got us blueberry smoothies too,” I said, taking the cups out and passing one to him.
“Plant Power,” he said, grinning as he looked at the bag and the containers. “You chose wisely. And you've done well with the first task I assigned you.”
I didn't want to say outright that I knew—or at least that I thought I knew—why he had told me to do this. Instead, I wanted to see if he would volunteer this information willingly.
“Thank you,” I said in response, and said no more.
“Well, go on,” he said as he opened his box and dug his fork into the creamy pasta, “give it a try, see what you think.”
I opened my burger box and was greeted immediately by a delectable scent. The burger itself looked fantastic—full and plump and loaded with toppings. I gave it a tentative bite, still feeling skeptical about the fact that it had no meat in it at all. It was, despite being meatless, actually very tasty. The texture was quite different to that of a beef burger, but the flavor was quite similar, and the peanut butter and chili sauce adde
d an interesting thick creaminess with a smack of spicy goodness.
“Mmm,” I said after wolfing down the first mouthful. “That's actually really good.”
He nodded as he chewed slowly on a mouthful of pasta. “It really is, isn't it?” he remarked after he had finished his bite.
I nodded, taking another bite of the delicious burger. “It's great,” I remarked. “Really great. But I'm curious . . . what got you into eating like this. I mean, it's just that, well . . .”
I trailed off, blushing as I realized that I had been about to comment on just how old he was—and thus how conservative I thought his ideas would be. Way to stereotype people, Marie. I wanted to kick myself.
“Because I'm an old fuddy-duddy whose ideas are too firmly rooted in past traditions to change?” he said, smiling mischievously.
My blush intensified. “Oh, I didn't, I wasn't going to—”
He held up a hand to silence me. “No need to be like that, Miss Benton. I'm in my eighties and I'm a very old man. Don't worry, the mirror I look into every morning and evening never lets me forget that. But think about something, I'm still investing now, in my twilight years. I'm still making money, still tracking trends. Do you know how much I'm worth?”
“Uh . . . a billion? Well over that? I'm sorry, I don't really know.”
He chuckled. “I am a billionaire, yes. Many times over, in fact. I could have retired years ago. I could have stopped at the age of thirty, to be honest, and lived very comfortably off what I had made by that age for the rest of my life. I had already made millions by that time. But I didn't, you see. Now, why do you think that is?”
I looked around and scratched my chin as I considered this. I was guessing that his modest lifestyle had something to do with it, although I couldn't quite put my finger on it. He reached into his pocket and took out a late model iPhone—yet another surprise. My father, in his sixties, was still struggling to get the hang of using a smartphone, and here this old man in his eighties was using this year's iPhone.
“I want to show you something,” he said, tapping the screen. After a few moments, he passed the phone to me. On the screen was a black and white photo of him in his younger years. He looked quite dapper and handsome. Next to him was a pretty woman, she was plain but elegant.
“This is your wife?” I asked.
He nodded. “Pretty, wasn't she? That picture was taken two years after we were married.”
I was wondering what this had to do with the question at hand.
“She doesn't really look like a movie star though, does she?”
I wondered if there was a polite way to answer this, if he was somehow testing me. I decided to be honest. “Well, um, no, I guess she doesn't. She's pretty though.”
“I was a well-known millionaire at the time that picture was taken. I had a large social circle. Beautiful women would approach me all the time. And I'm talking absolutely gorgeous women—Hollywood actresses, models, singers. But I never strayed, not even once. I had no desire to. Irma was my rock, my everything. Now, look around you. What do you see? Is this a mansion? Do I have a garage full of Ferraris and other sports cars?”
I shook my head. “No. This is a nice house, but it's pretty much standard for an upper- to middle-class neighborhood. And your BMW is what, ten years old? A mid-range model, too.”
“Fourteen years old, and still going strong,” he said with a wink. “That's because I stick to the maintenance schedule to a T. Take care of your things well, and they'll reward you with longevity and reliability. And yes, my house is rather modest for a man of my financial stature. I could buy a mansion and rub shoulders with movie stars and the richest people in the country… but, why would I? I'm happy here. This is home. I don't need excess, I don't need frills, and I don't need a beautiful but greedy, empty female as arm candy. I continued to work because it was what I loved doing, not because I wanted more and more—but more importantly, because I'm obsessed with the evolution of culture, of society, of how trends come and go, how they explode, and then fizzle out. Investing is all about two things, Miss Benton: timing and reading trends. Did you know that I own shares in Plant Power?”
I was quite surprised to hear that. “Wow, you do?”
“Yes. You see, I've been tracking trends for decades—and I still track trends. I have so-called ‘friends’ on social media, and I watch what they do, listen to what they talk about. I have some advice for you, Miss Benton.”
“Yes?” I set down my burger, eager to soak up whatever he wanted to share. He knew a lot more than I’d given him credit for.
“Make some friends on Facebook, or wherever, who aren't the type of people you'd usually associate with,” he said. “Fill your news feed with opinions that you'd never hear in your social circle. Broaden your net and pay very close attention to little things that seem to be gathering momentum. It'll be hit-and-miss at first, but the more you do it, the better you'll learn to read the signs. And the better you're able to read the signs, the more likely it is that you'll be able to get in and buy at the right time, when the price is still low, before it skyrockets. And if you can do that . . .”
“I'll be well on my way to making real money,” I said with a knowing nod.
“Precisely, Miss Benton, precisely. Now, I have another job for you.”
I was excited. He was finally giving me tips, and this sounded like it could be something a lot more insightful than simply getting him food. Would I be helping him research markets? Seeking out trends that were about to explode? Buying and selling shares?
“I'm organizing a ball, a party,” he said with a smile. “I want you to go through my address book with me and help me send out some invitations to the guests.”
What? Like a popped balloon, my enthusiasm deflated. One minute he was sharing business advice, and the next, it was as if I were his secretary again.
Chapter 8
Jace
I cracked open another beer and reached into the cooler to get one for Matthew. “Heads up, man,” I said as I tossed it to him.
He caught it and grinned. “Thanks, buddy.”
I leaned back in the chair and looked out over the city, staring at the sea of sparkling lights that stretched from horizon to horizon.
“Man, you really do have a great view from up here,” he said. “I wish I’d splurged for the private roof access with the elevator. And hey, check it out, you could probably make it if you jumped into the infinity pool from up here. Probably . . .”
I chuckled and shook my head, imbibing a long, deep sip of the cold, crisp beer. “It's too high and too far. You'd have to be an Olympic-level long jumper to make the distance. And if you missed…well, I don’t think you want the last thing you touch to be the Manhattan sidewalk below.”
“I know, I know,” he said, taking a long swig of his beer. “I'm not young and dumb enough to try it. Maybe if we were seventeen, but we have a bit more sense in our heads these days.”
We both laughed.
“Just a little more though,” I said.
He laughed. “Hey remember that time we jumped off Whiskey Rock into the Sacramento River when we were sixteen?”
I nodded and grinned. What a memory that was. “Man, to have the balls of a sixteen-year-old again huh? We just didn't think of consequences at all, did we?”
We both laughed.
“I'm surprised that we didn't wind up dead, or paralyzed—or in prison or something. Man, we pulled some crazy stunts back then,” Matthew said. “How high was the jump off Whiskey Rock?”
“A hundred and ten feet from the highest spot, right?”
He nodded. “That was it, yeah. A hundred-and-ten-foot drop into the Sacramento River. Man, it felt like you were falling forever. And when you hit the water—”
“It was almost like hitting concrete!” We both laughed again.
“Damn man, and what did we do when we survived that jump?” he asked.
“We climbed right back up there and did it agai
n—doing triple backflips the next time!”
We clinked our beer bottles together and grinned.
“We were totally nuts,” I said.
He nodded, and we both sat and sipped our beers in silence for a while. It was good, sitting here and reminiscing about old times. It helped us get our minds off the terrible news about his father. He needed this, and so did I. Uncle Caleb really was like a second father to me, and I had been devastated when Matthew broke the news to me. Still, as awful as it was, there really wasn't much we could do about it at this stage.
“We had no idea we'd end up like this huh?” Matthew asked, breaking the silence and pulling me from the web of my thoughts.
“No, none. Two kids from the central valley, who were always getting put in detention, who didn't get the best grades, who hung around with the wrong crowd and did crazy stuff . . . Hell, I didn't even know if we'd make it to twenty-one in those days.”
“And yet here we are, at the age of thirty-two, two new billionaires who came out to New York after teaching ourselves to code in that cockroach-infested shoebox sized apartment we shared after high school.”
“Yeah, we had nothing but a suitcase full of clothes between us, and a computer each. And we drove that clapped-out thirty-year-old van the whole way across the country!”
After another laugh, Matthew chuckled, “Good old Suzie!” Suzie was the name we'd given that old rust bucket of a van.
“She served us well, Matthew. She wasn't much to look at, and she had more rust holes in the bodywork than a piece of Swiss cheese, but that motor was strong. She didn't break down once on that drive across the country.”
“I wish we'd kept her. We could have put her on display in front of our building. It would have served as a great little piece of inspiration for our junior coders. I mean, that was what we came from, and now look at us. Big houses, even bigger bank accounts. You're driving a Maserati, and you've got a bunch of other cars, motorcycles, and a jet ski, I've got my Porsche collection and my boat. How things have changed.”
