I finish my cigarette, feeling pretty sanguine. I will win this thing easily and I will dole out Dad’s fortune fairly and wisely.
There’s no need to be bitter that he hasn’t just given me control over the company’s assets outright. I can prove that I deserve them. Maybe that will be better.
12
I can’t resist stopping into the Compleat Strategist on my way back to the subway.
It is the middle of the day, so the store is empty. I look over the new releases at the front, then make a circle of the shop, lingering on the bookcase of war games, the fussy hex-based tank cavalry games where you are invited to win World War I for the Germans, World War II for the Soviets, or the Civil War for the Confederacy.
I do like the new trend in card-based games, where you draw cards and deploy them in order to gain influence in sectors across a massive world. There are versions of this kind of game set during the Cold War, providential American elections, Vietnam, even the War on Terror. The trick to these games is being able to absorb pain. Every decision you make will cause you harm, but you have to know how to make the least bad decision, how to take blows only when you are ready for them, how to manage your pain in a way that doesn’t cripple your broader strategy. They are good metaphors for business itself. There is variance in the deal of the cards, but there is something very satisfying in playing a poor hand well.
On my way out, the woman at the register catches my eye, nodding to me. “Sorry to hear about your old man,” she says, not getting up off her stool. “Read about it in the Post.”
“Thank you. Yes, it has been devastating.”
“Sea Farmers, Sea Farmers: Pirate Cove, and Sea Farmers: The Kraken are still huge sellers for us. Not to mention all the other games you guys make. The diehards like that new one, where you play as ghosts trying to get out of hell? With the psychic jewels and how you can possess people? The combat wheel on that one is really innovative.”
“You mean Soul Break,” I say. “Yes, board games are my favorite division. Though we do so much else now. Augmented reality, even.”
She nods at this as if she knows what I am talking about. I exit the store and head off to the train.
Back at Nylo, I peek into Dad’s office. Everyone is gone, including Angelo Marino. All the evidence of our morning spent dealing with the will has vanished.
I go back down to my own office. I can barely open the door, the room is crammed so completely with flowers and gift baskets and stuffed animals. The head of Twitter’s New York office has sent me a giant lasagna from Pio’s, which is still warm in its aluminum casserole, along with a single black balloon. It is morbid as hell, but the lasagna actually looks pretty good.
“Would you mind getting rid of all this stuff?” I tell Peter, who runs in to greet me as soon as I set down my things. He knows better than to give me a hug, but he can’t hide the sympathy in his eyes, which I of course ignore. “Or could you at least spread it around to everyone else on the executive team? Actually, I want to keep the lasagna, and also all the cookies. But yeah, put these flowers on people’s desks. And you can just go ahead and burn all of these stuffed animals. Thank you notes all around, obviously.”
“Already done,” he says.
I carry the casserole into my bedroom and take off the plastic lid. The lasagna is still piping hot. It must have just been delivered. It’s a ton of food, but I don’t feel like sharing. I don’t want to eat with everyone else around me not knowing what to say, sharing stories of how great my dad was, telling me how I will definitely be able to fill his shoes.
I get myself a Corona from the refrigerator and I pry open a garlic and onion bagel and toast it in my little kitchen, melting some butter on top.
I am lifting a forkful of steaming pork ragu layered in spinach, ricotta, and truffles to my mouth when my game phone buzzes. I look down and see that Gabriella has solved the clue and activated the box. Her name fills in the second slot above a silver medal. She had to walk across the bridge and all the way into Midtown in this heat. Of course, out of all of us, she would also be the one most willing to hitchhike and also the one most likely to be picked up by a passing stranger.
Surely the rest of them will be able to figure out this clue, or maybe Alistair has already died in a motorcycle accident? Maybe Bernard can’t get clearance to land his helicopter anywhere near 34th Street?
I have a big Playqueen meeting at 3 p.m. and it’s only 1, which gives me some time to kill. I don’t like the fact that there is so much surrounding this game that I don’t know. I search my private emails for “Pescare and Associates.” I can’t remember when I last gave Pez a call and put him to work on something. Was it to find out if Dane Wizard was abusing my sister? Or when I had him look up Bernard’s new church and make sure it wasn’t some kind of cult?
Pez’s phone number is listed in his email signature beneath a quote attributed to Columbo: “I don’t think the world is full of criminals and full of murderers, because it isn’t. It’s full of nice people just like you. And if it wasn’t for my job I wouldn’t be getting to
