Chapter 3

"Sir, what is this supposed to say?" I sat up to my elbows in receipts, hand scrawled notes, and convoluted spreadsheets. To Calvin, I held up a post-it covered in an illegible mess of symbols I had taken to thinking of Calvin-glyphs. Had he written it in ancient Egyptian I would never have known, his handwriting was so bad. I had yet to figure out the secret to his code of shorthand. He looked over at me, squinted at the note, and cocked his head to the side.

"Ha… you know, I don't know." He reached over and snatched it from my outstretched hand. Holding it out, he twisted it this way and that, squinting his eye and humming. "Well, whatever it is, it can't be too important." He tossed it back on my desk. I heaved a sigh.

"Much as I would like to agree with you, I have to point out the top line." I pointed to the first word of the note which I had been able to decipher- "IMPORTANT."

"Pish posh, what do I know? It's too nice a day to be indoors! Let's go fly kites!" Calvin brushed off the whole conversation. I started to understand why he went through accountants annually. They must have all been dragged away by men in white coats.

"Sir, if you don't mind me making an observation?" I took a chance to be straight with this very rich, very eccentric, very complicated man. He nodded, seemingly curious about what I could say next. "You don't seem to be very interested in your businesses, much." He shrugged his shoulders and non committedly nodded his head.

"Go on."

"Well," I dared say, "Why don't you unload some of it?" He seemed confused by the suggestion.

"Sell the businesses?" He paused, thinking hard. I didn't say anything else, waiting to see what he would do. I didn't ask because I was overwhelmed, though I was. I didn't ask because I wanted to simplify this job, which I did. I asked because he was about 68 and had at least 20 different businesses under his thumb. He needed to downsize his holdings and enjoy what time he had left with all that money! He was basically a big kid- trapped inside, wanting to go play. I was his school teacher keeping him from doing what he wanted to do.

"I will never sell Wonder Wharf…. But, maybe you have a point." I knew I had his ear, but I better let him talk through this before I pushed any more. "I guess I don't need all these other businesses do I?" I looked down at the separate books for each one and looked back at him.

"No sir, I think you should unload some of this dead weight and enjoy yourself. Here's what we can do."

The next week was just us pouring over spreadsheets, me pointing out how much more money he could make by selling off a few things here and there and him getting excited for the prospect of freedom from these types of meetings in the future. I was letting the kid out to go play because school was over. My work was just beginning, though.

"Okay, so we sold the Wonderdogs, correct?" I was going over my files again, culling what I could from the filing cabinet to hand off to the new owners.

"Correct! Felix thinks he can make the team a winner again. I wish him luck." Calvin was filling out a crossword puzzle with his feet up on MY desk as I tried to work around him. He seemed to believe that Felix's plan was a waste of time, but he was going to love spending the money he got out of his brother. "What's a five letter word for 'Throw with effort?'" I couldn't tell if he was talking to me or just thinking aloud. He did that often. I had taken to responding as if he did speak to me just to cover my bases.

"I dunno… heave?" He smiled gleefully and wrote that down, so perhaps it was correct. "And the sale on the Yacht Club closed three days ago… we're starting the door-to-doors on your real estate buildings this coming Monday…. And you swear you're not interested in selling Wonder Wharf. That still the case, Sir?"

"You bet your sweet tuchus, my boy! I will NEVER sell Wonder Wharf!" He actually looked up from his paper and smiled at me. "You should be grateful since it means I'll always need you!" I smiled to myself as I threw the file for the yacht club across the room to the chair filled with old files I didn't have to care about any longer. Fischoeder had made several comments like that these past couple of weeks- that he wanted to keep me as his personal finance advisor on retainer after this summer. I still had three years of school left so I wasn't giving any sort of promises on the subject but it did make me feel a bit more secure to know I would have SOMETHING after graduation. "What is a 'St. Vincent Millay?'"

I assumed he was asking for his puzzle again, so I said, "Edna St. Vincent Millay was an American poet." Sometimes the weird facts that stuck in my brain from that poetry class I often skipped surprised me. "Pretty good stuff, actually." Calvin snorted and wrote something down on his puzzle.

My days were often like this now. Me working, interrupting Calvin's leisure time. He was paying me pretty well, though. I guess it's harder to hide money when you're asking someone to go over your books, so I knew what he could afford to pay me and I asked for that. If Mom taught me anything, it's to always value your time and effort. Never do anything for free. Unless doing something for free could get you a lot of credit. Mom was quite the philanthropist- so long as there was a camera.

Two days later I had gone door-to-door to most places on Ocean Avenue, barring one. I didn't mind visiting Jimmy Pesto or the stationery store. But I had procrastinated visiting Bob's Burgers for several reasons. One, I hadn't spoken to them in a year. After the fire, I was busy getting ready for finals and then college. I felt really weird about going down there again, since I was not exactly proud of myself. What I had done was irrational, irresponsible, and foolish. I knew that as well as I knew my own stupid name. I may have joked about it and laughed it off, but deep down, I was pretty embarrassed. In the end, I was really just glad that I was the one hurt and not her.

I also was too chicken to face Louise. What if she was mad at me? She hated me and I had picked her up, out of her bed, in her room. She was a private person who didn't let people in- not her mind, not her room, not anywhere. Obviously her family had a piece of her heart but she didn't have many close friends outside of that. I felt really awkward about facing her again.

The last thing- the nightmares. It wasn't just that I felt like I was dying in the dreams. There were others, worse ones that I couldn't even talk about aloud. Dreams where it wasn't me trapped in the room but Louise. I could hear her screaming, begging me for help. The doorknob was white hot and burned me when I tried to open it. I would try anyway, feeling my hands blister, smell the melted flesh. The door would get stuck, refusing to open and I could hear Louise coughing and crying. I could hear her dying. Those dreams had me wake up in a cold sweat and I would refuse to go back to sleep the rest of the night. Once or twice I spent some time hugging the toilet while sobbing. It was unbearable.

How do you face someone after you have those dreams about them?

So, putting off this last meeting for a few days finally bit me in the ass when I had to go in during some afternoon down-time. I stood outside for a moment, trying to fit myself back into the mindset of a cocky jerk. I didn't feel ready in the slightest but I couldn't exactly stand there on the sidewalk looking at the door any longer so I braced myself, put my shoulders back and put a smile on my face.

"Well look what the stupid cat dragged in. I knew I hated cats for a reason," the voice from my dreams sounded much better dripping disdain than crying in agony. Louise sat in a booth, filling pepper shakers. She looked taller, even sitting down and to my surprise she didn't wear the Stupid Pink Ears any longer. I smiled to myself, relieved we were back on this footing. I could pretend to be the asshole and it would be easy.

"I don't recall ever hearing 'Thank you for saving my life, Logan. You're truly a superhero to me.'" I let my old arrogance drip from every word. It was too easy actually. Was I always this obnoxious? No wonder she hated me. I didn't like this about myself.

We bantered back and forth for a minute. I fell back into old habits like a comfortable worn out shoe that I shouldn't be wearing any longer but was just so familiar I hadn't yet parted with it. When I told Louise why I had dropped by, she screeched out for her father, completely rigid with anger. I hadn't been on the receiving end of her vitriol in a long time so I had forgotten that she was flat-out scary when provoked.

Bob came rushing to the room with a look of panic but immediately chilled once he saw me. "Oh hello Logan. Can I help you?" Bob seemed relieved it was me, to be honest.

"Logan is trying to sell us the building, Dad," Louise declared. She furiously stared me down. I didn't understand until Bob spoke up. Then the balmy afternoon air felt chill.

"Oh, we've been expecting this. Logan we just finished the rebuild. The apartment isn't even done yet, but we had them finish the restaurant first, so we could get back to work. Our savings are gone; we're tapped. Insurance only covered part of it. It'll be another week or two before we can move back in upstairs. We would never be able to afford to buy the building. Fischoeder will just have to keep it." Bob wrung his dishtowel in his hands. His embarrassment was palpable.

"So, get your ass out, Bush. Nothing for you today." Louise got down to stand next to her father, outrage in every inch of her body as if I was bullying him, ready to shove me out the door if needed.

I couldn't just leave. I started this whole thing and knew what Fischoeder planned to do if a tenant couldn't buy him out; I would have to keep trying. "Jeeze, Bob. Are you sure there is nothing you can do? Mr. Fischoeder really wants to sell. If you don't buy out, he'll find someone else. If he sells to someone else, you'll lose your lease." At that, Louise's face fell and I could see the pieces line up in her mind. I was a monster, trying to make her family homeless.

I had never felt worse, not even when I made her cry.

"Can't you talk him out of it, Logan? Please? I know I already owe you, but isn't there anything you can do for me, for us?" Bob pleaded like a man at the bottom of his barrel. He had no pride to bruise anymore. This forty something year old man was begging ME, a nineteen year old punk asshat, for a favour to save his family from living on the street. And I was the one who started this to begin with; in fact I might as well have signed the eviction notice.

"Bob, I... I mean... I'm the one who convinced Fischoeder he should sell in the first place. I don't think I can get him to change his mind. He's really excited to get out of the landlord game and enjoy his retirement. I'm so sorry, Bob. I didn't think you guys wouldn't buy." I could only look at my shoes now. Facing Bob, facing Louise, was too painful.

Bob sighed, as if he realised he was asking the impossible and was resigned to figuring out what to do next. "We'll find something. We'll figure it out, I'm sure. Thanks Logan. I hope you enjoy your summer. Don't be a stranger and good luck at Princeton." I sheepishly smiled and ran out of the restaurant and around the corner to the alley, where I proceeded to have what can only be described as a panic attack. I had to fix this.

"Calvin, we have a problem," I began as I rushed into his financial office at the Wharf.

Fischoeder sat at my desk, as usual, with his feet up, as usual, drinking from a bottle of what smelled like bourbon. He laughed. "Trouble? What trouble? Whatever it is, I didn't do it." His nonchalance about everything, while normally charming, bugged me today.

The whole walk back to the Wharf after I vanished from the Belcher's restaurant I had been concocting a story to tell Fischoeder about why he needed to keep ownership of this one building after I had just sold him on the idea of liquidating all his real estate and getting out of the landlord business. "Sir, we forgot something very important about one of your buildings."

He took a swig out of his bottle and waited for me to continue. "The inspection. After the fire at the Belcher's place, the insurance inspector said the building was a match box and you were liable. I read the report. I'm assuming the Belchers didn't, but it's on record at the municipal ordinance office so they could if they go hunting for it." Fischoeder had the decency to look upset at that but still said nothing.

I continued, hoping to really convince him with what I had to say next. "If they sue over it, they'll win. They'll win so much money from you that-"

"Stop!" Apparently I didn't even have to finish that thought. The idea of losing money to a leaseholder was so abhorrent that he was panicking. "I get it! What do we do? Do I bribe someone?"

His go-to solutions always involved bribery. It seriously made me question where he learned business. Somehow I doubt it was taught at Wharton or wherever he studied. "No sir, I don't think that's the right tack. It would just be simplest to make the Belchers very happy tenants. So happy that they don't even THINK about taking legal action. Before you object-" I cut off the question I could see forming on his lips, "I will handle the management of this building as much as I can from now on, and I'll find someone else to deal with it when I'm away at school. You won't have to lift a finger. I'll even draw up a new contract for them." Calvin sat back, drank some more bourbon, and let that sit for a moment while he pondered.

"What would a new contract entail?" He was a bit shrewder than I expected, since I was hoping he would give me carte blanche to cut the Belcher's a huge break. It seems I would have to play a game to get my way.

"We find a rent that meets the needs to manage the property successfully, we give them a locked-in rate for a number of years, and we retroactively enact that rate to the first of this year."

"No retroactive deals. I hate that. But the other things…. Maybe that could work. And you say this is better than risking legal action."

"You can lose a little now to save hundreds of thousands of dollars if they sue. If Louise- Bob's youngest child- had died they could have sued for wrongful death due to negligence." I let that ruminate. One of my frat brothers was studying law and I helped him out a bit. Apparently some of it stuck. Fischoeder likely didn't remember that it was a close call for Louise. I doubt he remembered my involvement at all and I wasn't about to remind him I had been there and saw how fast things were burning, how there were no fire alarms.

He stood up, adjusted his coat and rebuttoned the undone button. His breath smelled like booze but he stood straight as an arrow without a hint of dizziness that one would expect after drinking that much. His tolerance must be ridiculous, I thought to myself. "Alright, let's do it. I can't let it get out that I goosed this. If they started looking into my other enterprises… well we can't have that. Go ahead, Logan my boy." He picked up the bottle of bourbon and began for the door. He turned at the door, "Anything else?" I shook my head, trying not to look too happy. "Good." And then he was out into the evening air, going wherever eccentric, unscrupulous multi-millionaires went at night. I assumed some sort of illicit underground social event, but he could have just gone home to water the lawn for all I knew.

Over the next month we went back and forth about the Belcher's lease. This rent was too low; that duration was too long. I had to use every bit of clever wordplay and negotiation tactics I learned from my mother to finally get to him to agree to something. This all was happening while we were selling off his other land holdings and side businesses. I'm fairly sure at least some of those "warehouses" were illegal fight clubs, drug dens, or worse. It didn't bear thinking about. I was simply glad to have them off my hands and I never wanted to think about it again. Working for Fischoeder was already difficult. If I had been curious enough to investigate my suspicions, I doubt I would have liked what I found. I definitely would have resigned at the end of the summer and ran away from this man as quickly as possible. I understood why his other accountants quit annually. Ignorance was my saving grace.

But eventually I had a new contract in hand, I had timed my visit to make sure the kids were at school, and I found Bob and Linda setting up for the lunch crowd.

Bob cried. Linda danced and sang. Their new lease had a lower rent than they currently were paying and it was a five year contract. No surprise rent hikes, no struggling to make ends meet every month, I hoped. As I walked out, I had only one thing to ask of them.

"Give the credit to Fischoeder, okay? He's really the one who deserves it." Bob looked sceptical and Linda looked confused but they agreed and went back to celebrating their happy news. I ducked out and felt relief like I hadn't known since I got my passing grades at the end of the year. This last month was giving me an ulcer.

The rest of my summer was a breeze by comparison. As promised I found a leasing company who would be the ones the Belchers called if things came up. They agreed to notify me if anything happened and I would do what I could while I was at school. Fischoeder was glad to know he was involved in name only and could sit back and plan what to do with his ridiculous money. Thankfully he listened to me and got a financial planner who was gonna help him invest it.

"Don't think this lets you off the hook, my boy," Calvin said to me one afternoon in the beginning of August. I had been reading an email while he was looking over some papers sent to him by Ira Roth, his new "money guy." I looked up to him confused about the lack of segue.

"Sir?"

"Ira is not replacing you. When it comes to the Wharf, I still want you to manage it." I was taken aback. He had hinted before at keeping me employed but I hadn't realised he wanted to give me that kind of responsibility. I thought of myself as a consulting accountant, at this point. And still a kid, for that matter. He was insane.

"I… I don't know what to say." I truly didn't.

"Just say you'll be back next summer and that you'll think about it, hm?"

I smiled and nodded, relieved I didn't have to answer right now. "I can do that."

Right before I was about to return to campus, I ran into Bob at Fig Jam, the fancy market. Mom insisted that she needed some fancy chia seeds for whatever kooky fad was sweeping through her social circle and the regular supermarket didn't have them. I quickly volunteered to check Fig Jam since I needed out of the house and away from her for a little bit. Bob was looking at some leafy green plant in the produce section while I wasted time wandering the aisles, chia seeds already in hand. Looking around just killed more time until I had to go back.

I saw Bob and waved. I didn't expect him to come over and talk to me though. "Logan!"

"Hi Bob. How's it going?"

"Great. No, really great. All thanks to you," he practically gushed. I gave him a look that he understood. "Er, right. Thanks to Fischoeder." I nodded and smiled.

"That's nice to hear. I'm happy for you." I checked my watch, unconsciously, not realising it made me look impatient.

Bob gave me a good look over, seeing probably more than I would have. This was a real adult, running his own business, raising three kids. He probably read me like a book. "You okay Logan?"

I shook my head a bit, not wanting to lie but not about to pour my stresses out to a man who lived and breathed stress I couldn't imagine. He surprised me by reaching out and putting a hand on my shoulder. "I know how hard you must have fought for us and I won't forget it, I swear. You have become an exceptional young man Logan. Your parents should be proud." Was someone cutting onions? It became difficult to keep my eyes from tearing up.

Bob squeezed my shoulder before letting go and gave me a grateful smile. I nodded quickly and turned to go.

"Logan? One more thing?" I turned back to the chef wearing worn out clogs, stained pants, and his slightly greasy apron. "Don't take it too hard, about Louise. She's not even that nice to the people she likes. But she's growing up. She'll get over this whole mortal enemies thing." He paused. "I hope." I grinned at that.

"I hope so, too." And that was the last I saw of Bob for another two years.