Chapter 6 #2
Wandering out to the main room, hoping for a router or a printed code somewhere obvious, I found Alaric at a compact bar.
It looked like it had been ripped from a 1960s airport lounge, complete with chrome accents and mirrored shelves.
He poured himself a soda water and glanced at me over his shoulder.
“Can I make you a drink?”
“No, thank you. Is there no wifi?” I tried to keep my tone even, but the words came out strained.
“That’s correct. No wifi.”
“Oh! But. . . I also have no cell coverage here.”
He shrugged. “How about that.”
Waiting for more from him, hopefully some explanation or potential solution to this massive problem, he said nothing.
I huffed. “You’re telling me there’s no cell coverage or wifi here?”
“Apparently not.” Alaric sipped his water, still unbothered.
I made a sound of frustration in the back of my throat. “Alaric. How am I supposed to get any work done?”
He tilted his head slightly, so very, very unbothered. “Maybe you should sit down on one of the comfortable couches, have a cup of tea, and think about it.”
“It sounds like you’re telling me to relax.”
His look was one of pure innocence. “I would never.”
But he was, of course.
Stomping over to the nearest couch, I plopped down, crossed my legs, and angrily contemplated my surroundings.
There was something about the interior that felt off to me but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
Maybe it was the way the house was so obviously not curated, as though every object had been carefully selected because it was prized for its meaning and not because anything matched or fit together.
“It’s the middle of the week, and still business hours.” I announced this more to the room than to him.
“So?” Alaric claimed a seat on the opposite couch like it was his personal throne.
“All productive members of society are working right now and only lazy gluttons are not.”
“Haven’t you ever taken a day off?” His eyes seemed to glitter. But then, the man had always possessed naturally glittery eyes.
I scowled.
“You should try it. You might like it.” He smiled like he couldn’t help himself, adding, “You really have no idea how cute you are when you do that, do you?”
Unbelievable.
“See? This. Here. Right now. This is the fundamental difference between you and me.”
He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “What’s that? I know the value of rest and that there’s a hellvalot more to life than working all the time?”
“It must be nice”—my voice rose in pitch despite myself—“having everything you want whenever you want it and working only when you feel like it.”
Alaric laughed, low and easy. “Is that how you see me?”
I crossed my arms tighter, refusing to answer. “Some of us have to work for what we have. We don’t get free bottles of ten thousand dollar bourbon just for being rich and handsome.”
“You think I’m handsome?”
I wished for superpowers in that moment, some magical way to set his thick, shiny hair on fire with my mind.
Alaric leaned forward, set his glass on the low table between us, then placed his elbows on his knees. “Okay. Seriously. Is that really how you see me? That I always get everything I want?”
I said nothing.
“No response? Fine. Then let’s talk about you.”
“What about me? I’ve worked my ass off for everything I have.”
“And what do you have?”
“Stability,” I said, without hesitation.
Alaric tilted his head again, eyes narrowing as though deeply contemplating the veracity of my answer. “I guess some people would call three hundred and fifty million stability.”
My mouth dropped open and I physically reeled back. “How do you—how could you know—”
“If I’m going to make the most out of the next three days, of course I had to investigate you, and—yes—that includes both you personally and your various companies’ net worth.”
I glared at him with my entire being. “You had me investigated?”
I tried to sound shocked but I wasn’t actually surprised. He clearly wanted to change my mind about Duke and the Weston Company and Alenbach. It made sense, paying someone to pry into potential weaknesses. I’d done the same many times to potential investors.
He nodded, not the slightest bit abashed.
“I also know you live in a studio apartment in the basement of a brownstone you own, and that you rent out every other floor. I know you don’t own a car and take public transportation everywhere you go.
You buy everything second hand if you can, or else you buy in bulk.
You have no friends, no acquaintances with whom you spend time, and no hobbies other than making money. ”
Hearing my existence described in these spartan terms didn’t faze me. It was the life I’d chosen for myself. I didn’t like or dislike it, so why should anyone else get to have an opinion?
“So what?”
He shrugged, more gentle now. “So, you’re miserly. Even with yourself.”
“I’m prudent and economical,” I corrected, snorting, hating that his use of the word ‘miserly’ had me feeling so defensive or that I cared what he thought.
“And there’s nothing wrong with either of those.
I have no debts. No one relies on me and I rely on no one.
I ask nothing of anyone except to be left alone. ”
“Fine. Let’s compromise and label it ‘parsimonious’ instead of miserly.” His tone struck me as reasonable and conversational, which only irked me further. “Tell me, what does someone who is exceedingly parsimonious need three hundred and fifty million dollars for?”
I shot back, “Says the man who lives in a small two-bedroom ranch house in the middle of nowhere, West Texas. What do you need eight billion dollars for?”
His slight wince at the number didn’t escape my notice and the dollar figure hung in the air between us.
I’d seen the figure once, years ago, in a magazine feature about “America’s Youngest Billionaires.
” I knew it was probably higher now even though he’d retired.
After the stock splits and tech buyouts and whatever else he’d gotten up to since the article published, it had to be closer to fifteen billion.
His chest rose and fell with a silent breath and he inspected the glass in his hand before answering tightly, “I don’t need that kind of money. No one does. Which is why I retired and why I’m giving most of it away.”
I stared at him. “Giving it away,” I repeated, as though it was the punchline to a joke.
What did that even mean for a billionaire?
To give away that much money, how could he be certain it was responsibly distributed and didn’t fall into the hands of grifters like Duke Weston, people who would use it to buy themselves custom yachts that didn’t fit under historic bridges or fund a trip to outer space for a bunch of barbie doll bimbos? He couldn’t.
There was no way to fairly redistribute that much money to people who actually needed it because greedy, corrupt people were the most motivated group on the planet and they were pros at playing the victim.
“Didn’t you read the whole article?” He sounded genuinely curious.
I had. I’d read about the foundations, the matching grants, the scholarships for first-gen college kids and the experimental cash handouts.
I’d seen his name in the headlines—sometimes as a philanthropist, sometimes as a “disruptor,” sometimes as the devil—but I’d assumed it was PR, or some elaborate tax dodge.
I’d never believed that he was doing it for real.
“Good for you. You’re a saint.” I ensured my voice remained flat as a pancake. “But what I do with my own money is no one’s business but mine.”
“But you don’t do anything with your money, Aly.”
I opened my mouth to argue and he lifted his hand. “Sorry. I misspoke. You do use it to take revenge. My bad.”
Turning my head, I glared out the window at the darkening sky, and mumbled under my breath, “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Pardon? What was that?” Alaric’s voice was soft, but I could hear the steel behind it.
I let my gaze slide over the interior of the house, searching for the words, still bothered by the empty spots on his bookshelves, then said louder, “There’s no point in talking to you about this because you would never understand.”
“Why not?”
I snapped. “Because you’ve never had to wonder whether next week you’d be homeless, or if a meal would be the last one for a long, long time.” The words spilled out of me, my voice vibrating with something raw and no longer familiar.
We locked eyes and stared at each other as more than a minute ticked past. Clearly, Alaric was stunned by my outburst. But then his expression shifted after a while, his surprise morphing into something that felt suspiciously like remorse. Or guilt.
Ugh.
I didn’t want to see either of those emotions from him, so I dropped my gaze to the floor. “Forget it. My point is, it’s my money. No one’s but mine. I earned it. And no one but me has a right to an opinion about it.”
With that, I pushed myself off the couch, turned, and left the room.
I walked back to my assigned bedroom and shut the door firmly behind me.
For several minutes, I paced, heart thrumming with leftover adrenaline and regret.
I tried to check my phone again, hoping the cell reception would’ve been miraculously restored in the last ten minutes. Still no signal.
I sat on the edge of the bed, then stood up, then circled the room. The view was now grey, the outside world reduced pinpricks of emerging stars and fading hills. It was so quiet I could hear the blood moving between my ears.
How many people in Alenbach had ever stood in this room?
In this house? Had any of them felt what I was feeling?
Not just discomfort, but the sense that every eclectic painting and knickknack and shadow judged my life choices.
I tried to tell myself I didn’t care. This was just a house, and he was just a man, and it just a couple of days until I would return to my quiet, stable, impervious life like none of this had happened.
But I knew I was lying to myself, and I hated how I couldn’t even be honest about that.