“Hello, Mother,” I said when she finally answered the phone. Sometimes it would take her ages to locate it.

“Good morning, mon cheri.” 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 obtained the anticipated update from Jared’s people. I was getting ready to meet with some acquaintances I had met in a night club a few years ago–a fun bunch of people who liked to party–who had promised that there would be some women I might like. Jared’s assistant called and informed me that they had sent me an email with the proposal’s outlines. She asked me to read it and, provided I was willing to accept it, asked me to stop by the office next week to look at the paperwork and asked permission for their team to visit Maple Grove House for some assessment work. I gave my approval to the team right away and thanked her for the call.

The outlines of the proposal were quite simple. Jared was willing to provide the necessary funds to build the cottages upon successful promotion of the project and receiving at least two downpayments. So I had to use my own money to begin the project and he would join me once he saw it was going well. I could not say I was happy with it, but it was a definite sign that he was interested. In my position, I felt like I had to roll the dice and accept it–beggars can’t be choosers and all that.

I called my lawyer, Mr. Goldberg, and told him about the deal. He was not too enthusiastic about the conditions either, but it was “definitely better than nothing if you’re smart about it.” He was an old friend of the family and knew me well. Too well, I might add. For him, it was good news because it meant that the dry spell might be over, and he was finally going to get paid for his work. He had been our family’s lawyer for more than forty years. In fact, my grandfather had hired him to do some paperwork when he was still a law school student. He continued to personally provide his invaluable services even after he had started his own firm, Goldberg and Associates, which became quite a respectable company in the City. I asked him to join me in the meeting with Jared’s team; I preferred to have him by my side to correct my slips of the tongue.

“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 the same day, I had plans to spend some time with Natasha and Christopher. Back in university, the ever-reliable Christopher had proved himself to be an excellent drinking partner and an expert in dealing with hangovers. The two qualities that I still valued. Unlike James Harding, Christopher was a neat gentleman–trustworthy and a real pleasure to get drunk with. I hadn’t told either of them about the deal. These were the people who had not worn their hearts on their sleeves, and I had been one of them.

Natasha arranged for us to go to some charity event and announced the news when we were having dinner at a French bistro.

“There’ll be a lot of people who are looking for opportunities to invest their money,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll be able to meet someone useful.”

“Whom will we be giving our money this time, darling?” Christopher asked, sipping his Old Fashioned. He liked charity events because it was not only “a way to give back,” but also they were “good places to meet smart and educated people.” Unlike me, he enjoyed having meaningful conversations and learning new things.