Chapter 2
The flight home was relatively uneventful. It had the advantage of being less rushed than the way over and Tim decided to fly first class now that he had the money. It was a good deal nicer than coach and he was surprised to find it made the 8 hour trip a good deal more pleasant. Perhaps it wasn't just a waste of money as he had previously assumed. Having only been in Paris for a few days, he hoped the jet lag wouldn’t be too bad, but even still he tried to get some sleep. He awoke as the plane began its descent into YVR early Sunday evening and watched out the window as the sunshine and blue skies disappeared behind the clouds as the plane crossed through the cloud line and emerged underneath to a light rain. It was slightly uncommon for this time of year, but never surprising in Vancouver. The landing on the tarmac was quite smooth and they taxied into the gate without much of a wait.
The airport was quiet for a Sunday night and customs took less time than Tim had feared. Though he got a few questions about why he had gone to Paris for only 3 days, they were quickly answered and he was able to continue on. Having travelled internationally before, he was organized enough to only have a carry-on bag, allowing him to skip the queue for the baggage carousel and head immediately home. By instinct he headed towards the entrance to the Canada Line, but then changed his mind, deciding he would simplify matters and catch a taxi instead.
Once the taxi was on its way, the rain had picked up and fell heavily on the windshield, hiding the city behind the thick rain drops. Perhaps because of this, the roads were empty on the drive home and it only took 20 min to get to Tim’s apartment. He paid the driver and grabbed his bag from the trunk before running inside to get out of the rain.
Tim’s apartment was exactly as he had left it, which is to say in a state of moderate chaos. Living on his own and rarely having company meant that he chose not to abide by the old adages about cleanliness. He was not particularly messy by nature, he just did not feel compelled to clean very often unless he knew people would actually be coming over. If he wasn’t bothered by it and he was the only one who had to live with it then it really shouldn’t matter, he reasoned.
The décor spoke of a man who didn’t spend much time at home, or at least didn’t care about his surroundings. For the most part it was rather utilitarian, leaving little room for personal touches. If a guest were to walk into his place for the first time they would notice three things. First, judging by the stacks of books, Tim was an avid reader. Second, considering the almost bare cupboard and fridge, he wasn’t much of a cook. And finally, based on the small size and drab colour scheme, he didn’t prioritize ambiance.
Tim, however, was entirely content with his surroundings. The place served his purposes, was relatively inexpensive, and allowed him plenty of time to be alone with his books and his thoughts. The only sign of a connection to the outside world was a cork board with a few select photos of family and friends, mostly quite out of date. As he entered the apartment, he through his bag in the corner of the bedroom and checked through his mail. Among the advertisements and utility bills there was one letter marked from James Conroy which he inspected and then opened.
It was an invoice for services rendered, itemizing the costs incurred both as retainer and the facilitation of the contract. Altogether it came to a little over half a million dollars, pretty good for a few days work. Yet Tim couldn’t really complain; even after the money was paid out to James and Jeremy Evans, he was still left with over $47 million. After glancing over the invoice, he filed it in with his tax documents.
Though he had slept well the previous night, jet lag and the long plane ride contributed to growing fatigue. Resolving to deal with everything in the morning, he put his bag down by his bed, got undressed, and went to bed.
Among the many questions left open in his mind, he wondered what he would do about his job. So far he had only taken a couple days off, somewhat abruptly but not particularity suspicious, many of his colleagues were on vacation anyway. Since he hadn’t yet decided what his plans were long term, he would have to go to work in the interim or risk having to answer uncomfortable questions. Accordingly,when his alarm went off at 6:30 the next morning, he resisted the urge to throw it out the window and instead got up. He got ready as per his usual routine, making a mental note that someone with millions of dollars in the bank should not be required to wake up before 10 in the morning. Despite this, he put on his suit and headed out to catch the bus.
Tim’s office was located in a newer development out by the university. Since his firm dealt almost exclusively in retirement planning and estate management, the location was chosen to cater to the many retirees in the area. It also provided an excellent recruiting base from the graduates of the university as well as strong connections to the Commerce faculty allowing the firm use of cheap co-op students.
As the bus sped through the puddles along 16th avenue, Tim watched the endowment lands speeding past. While he enjoyed the proximity of his work to home, he did think it somewhat tragic that such an incredible forest was gradually succumbing to poor university planning and high land prices, shrinking gradually year by year.
The bus stopped a few blocks from his building and he got off next to one of the many coffee shops on campus in order to cement his alertness and complete his morning ritual. He filed in and joined the line-up of the similarly caffeine addicted: a cross-section of the entire campus demographic. It seemed that anyone who didn’t arrive at their respective classes or workplace either with a coffee or the intent of getting one was considered eccentric at best. The summer line-ups, to the extent there were any, proved substantially more manageable than those of the fall and Tim savoured the short wait. When the undergraduates arrived in September, it would be a different story altogether.
He walked the few blocks over to his office, futilely trying to avoid the puddles that were already beginning to pool from the rain. His building was nestled right beside the forest, indicating its relative newness. He took the elevator up to his office on the 3rd floor, exchanging pleasantries with colleagues as he passed.
Summer was not usually busy in his line of work and this week was no exception. Half the advisers were still on vacation and the ones who remained were mostly planning for the fall. When he arrived in his office, he put away his bag, turned on his computer, and checked his messages.
The only message was from a client he had to cancel on last week wanting to book another appointment. Tim made a note to call her back later in the morning, trying to concentrate on his responsibilities. He checked his calendar for the week and, as expected, found it to be fairly empty. It was hard to motivate himself to work, both because he knew that he no longer needed the money and because his mind was certainly occupied elsewhere.
First on his agenda was deciding what to do about his job. While he didn’t mind the work and was reasonably good at it, Tim wasn’t exactly a passionate financial adviser. He had come into the job as a means of making use of his skill sets while making a steady income and got comfortable with it so that he never left, even though it was never something he had planned to do for a long time.
He felt too restless to get any work done so he called up his client to reschedule for the next day and went out for a walk to clear his head. The rain had lightened up considerably and there were signs of sun behind the edge of the clouds in the distance indicating potentially better weather to come.
He hadn’t anticipated the choices he would have to make and was feeling more than a little overwhelmed. On some level it would have almost been easier to take the publicity and the harassment that came with openly revealing his winning so that he didn’t have to be so secretive about his new wealth. If he chose to he could certainly come up with a lie as to the source of some of the money, but he was hesitant to do so. For some reason the act of omission seemed less unethical than an outright lie.
What Tim really needed was advice, but the only two other people who knew his situation were hardly friends. He desperately wanted to tell someone but was concerned that in doing so he would create more problems than he would solve. Even still, there might be a way to tell someone without telling them. He thought about it for a moment and decided if he were to pose his situation as a hypothetical, in the right situation, he might be able to get the answers he was looking for without revealing too much.
He took out his phone and began scrolling through the numbers, one by one. He made a mental list of whose advice would provide him with the most insight into his situation. Work colleagues were immediately discounted; it wasn’t the kind of thing you talk about in the office. Most of his family lived elsewhere and besides, he felt they would be able to see through him too quickly and figure out what was really going on. There were a few of his friends whose advice he valued, but most of them weren’t the kind to indulge in hypotheticals. Except for one.
Tim had met Laura through mutual friends many years back and they almost immediately discovered that they operated on the same wavelength. It was a friendship free from pressure of any kind, one that permitted both brutal honesty and open conversations. They talked about everything from current events to personal frustrations with work and relationships and there was no topic that would seem unusual to bring up. Most of all, Tim knew that he would get Laura’s absolute honest opinion and that she would be right, as was usually the case. He sent off a quick text message asking if she was free for coffee that evening.
He headed back to the office, feeling better about things and endeavoured to get some work done, if for no other reason than to take his mind off things until evening. He decided to make a few calls to check in with some of his clients to make sure they were happy with their portfolios. Mostly, people just wanted him to manage things so they didn’t have to worry about them, but he found that even if they didn’t have any questions or concerns, making the phone call to check in was an invaluable indication of his concern for their well-being and part of what kept his clients loyal.
The time passed quickly once he had something to do. He made a dozen phone calls and spoke with seven of his clients. He made a couple appointments but as he had guessed, primarily they were happy with the way things were.
Around 12:30 he walked over to campus to grab a sandwich in the Student Union Building while it was still relatively quiet. The rain had stopped entirely and the clouds were starting to disburse as he crossed over the field nearby. A couple of the campus restaurants closed up during the summer, but largely there was enough demand from staff and grad students to keep them open. He headed down into the basement and got a sandwich from the deli, eating it as he walked back to the office.
There was a meeting scheduled for 1:00pm, so by the time he got back to the office he only had time to straighten out his desk before heading to the conference room. When he arrived he found that he was the first one there which was not too surprising, especially in the summer time. His office had a relaxed atmosphere and 1:00 was taken to mean 1:15 by most of the staff. While Tim knew this well, he still stubbornly prided himself on being on time, even if there was no one there to notice. Punctuality was a sign of respect and he always tried to treat others with the way he wanted to be treated, though it seldom worked.
A few minutes later people gradually began to trickle in, last of all Darren, who was supposed to be chairing the meeting. There wasn’t really a lot to cover, but Monday afternoon meetings were part of the weekly agenda which was followed judiciously, if not punctually. The hour passed slowly and Tim had considerable trouble focusing on what was being said. He tried to at least pretend to be interested but could not motivate himself to pay attention. He took down a few half-hearted notes, but otherwise daydreamed until the meeting was over.
Afterwards, he decided that he had gotten enough done for the day and as the jet lag was beginning to catch up with him, he headed home to have a nap. On the bus ride back his phone rang. He looked at it and saw a new text from Laura, suggesting 8:00pm at a small coffee shop just off Broadway. This worked well for Tim so he sent back a quick text agreeing. When he got home, he fell asleep almost immediately and didn’t wake up until six.
He was a little surprised to have slept so long, but between the jet lag and the excitement of the last week it seemed his body needed more rest than usual. He awoke feeling rested and hungry. He jumped in the shower and got ready for the evening, deciding on a stir fry for dinner.
Fried vegetables fell into the category of one of the things Tim both enjoyed and was able to cook which was a rather short list. He got some frozen mixed vegetables out of the freezer and some soy sauce from the cupboard before turning on the heating element and pouring some oil into a pan. He really would have liked to add some mushrooms, but he neither had them in nor felt like making a trip to the store and so he had to make do with what was available.
The pan heated up quickly and he tossed in the veggies and soy sauce, stirring occasionally to make sure they didn’t burn. The aroma filled his kitchen and made it feel uncommonly home-like. He put on some music from his computer and decided to tackle some of the dishes piled up in the sink while he waited for the veggies to cook.
Tim had always felt a strange comfort in washing dishes that he couldn’t explain rationally. While he often neglected them until there was a sizable pile, the actual act of washing them felt incredibly productive. Somehow, being able to see first hand a tangible difference in the mess of his kitchen provided great satisfaction.
He got through about half the dishes by the time dinner was ready and left the rest to soak. He was pleased with himself for actually cooking something, with vegetables no less, rather than ordering in pizza or going to McDonalds. He ate quickly as usual and soon found it was time to start walking over to the coffee shop.
On the way over he turned on his iPod to his guilty pleasure of 80s pop, trying not to sing along too loudly so as not to frighten others on the street. He tried to think about what he would say to Laura when he arrived, but couldn’t make up his mind. He didn’t want the conversation to feel forced, but at the same time was anxious to get a second opinion. He then realized that he was over thinking, a common problem for him, and endeavoured to stop.
The coffee shop came into view as he turned the corner onto Arbutus Street. It typically closed in the early evening, but during the summer it had extended hours which meant that Tim had a place suitable for conversation away from the neon lights and saccharine pop music that proliferated in most of the coffee shops in the area. This one, to its credit, was trying to be independent in a helpful sense, which was to say free of distractions and designed for conversation.
Tim arrived a little early and found a table towards the back where they wouldn’t be disturbed. He set down his coat and then went to the counter to order a coffee. The barista was pleasant and attentive, without being overbearing, a rarity in the profession and his drink was ready within a couple min. As he walked back to the table, drink in hand, Laura arrived.
Laura was blond, short and vibrant. She shared with Tim a love of conversation and ideas but in particular she possessed a strong sense of curiosity that meant she always had something to talk about. Tim smiled for a moment before calling her over to the table. Upon seeing him she ran over and hugged him before sitting down.
“So I just had the best day ever,” she began, “I had coffee with Theresa, then I found a new path by the beach and got a pair of flip flops for $2!”
Tim smiled, “Glad to hear your day went well. Mine was pretty quiet for the most part. Its been a while since we last hung out, what have you been up to?”
Laura talked about her new job with the Red Cross, her sister’s new kitten and her vacation plans for Mexico in October. Tim found it helpful to listen to normal things so he could put his own slightly surreal situation in context. They chatted for a while about her new job and the weather, an almost constant topic in the city of rain. Eventually, Tim was able to segue into his own questions.
“Do you think you will stay with the Red Cross?”
Laura responded almost immediately, “It is pretty hard to know at this point, I’ve only been there three weeks so far. I mean I like it now, but maybe I’ll get bored after a year or so. We’ll see.”
Tim pressed forward, a little anxiously, “But I mean if you could have your dream job today, what would it look like?”
“I don’t know exactly. Something where I was helping people. Something that mattered. It would have to be social, obviously. I’m not really sure there is such a thing as a dream job though, at least not what people usually mean by that. Any real job is always going to have good and bad things about it,” she replied.
“Alright, maybe that is true, but lets say you woke up tomorrow with millions of dollars in your bank account, you never have to work again if you don’t want to, what would you do?” This was Tim’s real question and he was a little apprehensive as to how she would take it.
Laura stayed quiet for a long time. This was not typical of her usual behaviour, but Tim was pleased that she seemed to be taking the matter so seriously. After a considerable pause, she began, "I guess I'd do some travelling. Maybe try to combine it with some NGO work. I'd buy my mom a house. I would have to do some research to see which charities make the best use of their money.” And then, almost as an afterthought, “Oh, and I'd buy a horse."
"You'd buy a horse?" Tim asked in bewilderment, "since when do you ride horses?"
"Well I haven't so far, but that doesn't mean I don't want to,” she replied with a giggle.
Tim thought for a moment, "what about retirement and saving? Would you buy a house for yourself?"
Laura frowned a little, “I guess so, but it wouldn't really be my first priority. With that kind of money you could really change peoples lives, why spend your time on focusing on real estate? Buying a house means utility bills and lawn care and neighbours and all that. I like my basement suite, it is simple and means I can move when I like, travel when I like, and not have to worry about those things. Why use that kind of money to complicate your life when you could make it easier instead?”
As Tim expected, Laura was right, at least probably. But he didn't quite agree with her on everything. He wanted the security of owning a place and of knowing his retirement was taken care of. Maybe all the years of advising people to be prudent had rubbed off on him. But on the other hand, he hadn't really given serious thought to giving away money and he probably should. No one really deserves to keep all that for money for themselves.
“Yeah, that's a good point,” he responded. He decided to change the subject, both because he didn't want to seem too interested in this supposedly hypothetical scenario, and because he already had a fairly good sense of what Laura would advise, for herself at least, if not for him.
They chatted for a while longer until the coffee shop was getting ready to close and then decided to walk down to the beach. The weather was still quite warm at this time of year, even in the evening though the wind picked up a little as they got closer to the water. When they reached Kits beach they decided to walk west along the pathway and found that many other people had the same idea. The sun was just above the horizon, not quite ready to set for the day, and lighting up the coast mountains with an orangey pink glow. As much as the city could be full of pretension, Tim really couldn't argue with the claims of its beauty.
Conversation drifted onto various subjects, but never felt forced. Having been friends as long as they had, neither Tim nor Laura felt any kind of pressure to talk when they didn't feel like it. For a while they fell silent and just looked at the view as they walked.
When they got close to Alma street, Tim began to feel tired. Realizing he had walked a fair bit that day already and was still shaking off the last tinge of jet lag, he told Laura he was going to head home. She nodded and walked with him up to Broadway where they hugged and parted ways.
He walked home thinking about everything they had discussed. He decided that the next day he would do some research into the kinds of causes he might want to support, with a focus on those that would accept anonymous donations. Though he enjoyed catching up with Laura, he felt isolated at not being able to truly talk about what was going on. It was a kind of persistent numbness that stayed in the background except at times like these.
When he got home he realized that he was still quite awake even though his body was tired. He went to his computer in search of distraction and caught up on the television shows he had missed while he was away.
One thing struck him from his conversation with Laura. He likely would have been able to predict much of what she said before they even talked, but he would not have predicted the horse. Not even so much the horse in particular, though he certainly couldn't have predicted that either, but rather the notion of her spending money on something material that would make her happy. Somehow he had assumed that this was somehow unethical, that with great wealth came great responsibility and that whole Spiderman school of philosophy, but he realized that she was right. While he didn't want to waste all his money, it did seem reasonable to buy something that he would enjoy, just because he could.
Tim loaded up Google and started browsing car sites. He decided that even though his '95 Honda still worked just fine, it was time for an upgrade. He had never really been a car person, he didn't know a catalytic convertor from a head gasket or how many horses one needed to run a car, but he did know what he liked.
Most of the time that meant reliable, fuel-efficient and comfortable, but if he really let himself dream, he had a secret love of the old muscle cars from the 50's. Back before parking space was a concern or people wanted to attach trailers to the back.
At some point years ago he had seen a picture of a red 1959 Thunderbird. The kind with the 6 inch tail-fins and space age lights. It was a two-door convertible environmentalist’s nightmare, and he loved it.
Tim wasn't a collector and had no interest in putting it in a museum, he wanted a car that he could speed down the UBC highway, with the wind in his hair, laughing maniacally. One of those cars that people would admire and ask questions about its mileage and what kind of engine it had to which he would smile and respond, “It sure does...” and “yeah, you really can't go wrong with those,” until whoever it was got frustrated and left.
Most of the listings he looked at were for more recent cars or else antiques that had been sitting in someone's garage for the last twenty years but after looking for a while he finally found it. Somewhere outside of Hamilton, Ontario was his dream car. A fully-restored red 1959 T-bird convertible. Apparently, it had been owned by a mechanic who restored it as a project but didn't have the space to keep it anymore and therefore needed to sell. According to the ad, it was driven regularly and in very good repair, all surface imperfections had been fixed and it was repainted eighteen months ago. He would have to get it inspected of course, but it seemed pretty well ideal. The asking price was $35,000 and Tim had no idea if this was reasonable or not, but figured in the long run it didn't really matter, he could afford it regardless.
He sent off a quick email expressing his interest and asking for some more pictures and then looked into local mechanics in that area to try to find someone who could inspect it before getting it shipped to Vancouver.
He felt pleased about getting some tangible expression of his new wealth, one which probably wouldn't require much of an explanation. It was expensive enough that he felt like he was enjoying his money, but not so expensive that it would be unreasonable for him to afford it. He resolved to spend the next day figuring out how to spend the rest of it. A lot of the things Laura had said made sense, but he also wanted to make sure his savings were sorted out.
Though he still had a lot to do, he decided to go to bed and leave the rest for the morning. He left the computer and jumped into bed, finding himself for once more excited than worried to face the morning.
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