The Money

This post is from my Substack, where I’m posting new material.

**

Wake up, said the money. I need you to do something.

Already?

He’d been unemployed ten days. He’d saved half a million dollars. He’d dreamed for nine years. Every day. Please let them fire me. They did.

That day he went to his Google Spreadsheet and looked at the money. Stocks had dipped. The money was $499,908.

No matter.

$164,845 was in retirement accounts. Untouchable without penalty. Of the rest, $143,259 was invested. Securities that should grow. Untouchable without losing.

$191,802 was uninvested cash. Annual expenses $76,568. If he earned no money whatsoever. If his unemployment claim were rejected. If no stock nor bond ever yielded another dividend. He could live comfortably, without touching investments, for 2.54 years.

927 days, 2 hours

And 24 minutes

She’s pregnant, said the money.

Unlikely. She was spot bleeding.

You came in her, said the money. She’s 26 years old. Pregnant. Prenatal care alone costs $100,000.

Where are you getting that figure. No one I’ve seen with a baby has $100,000.

Do you want to send your kid school with them, said the money. They’re on EBT. They’ll cut him open. I need you to follow up on that conference call.

He’d been offered a potential opportunity. His old boss moved to a new company. There was a role. The window was closing.

But he wanted to take her to France.

Maybe to Africa. Maybe see elephants.

Maybe they could stay on a beach for a month.

Maybe get her pregnant there for real. And feed the baby mangoes. And dip his little feet in the warm water.

Just keep the door open, said the money. It’s one email.

**

He sent the email.

He booked the call.

He tap danced.

This is an incredible team you’ve put together, he said.

The CEO said his board scrutinized every decision. At that salary they require a PhD. But there are ways to bring total compensation in line.

He cooked her dinner to celebrate. She waved incense smoke out of her face and took a bite of pot roast. There was a dead animal in the walls somewhere. Under the bathtub where he couldn’t reach. The corpse smell coming in waves. So what does that mean, she said, holding her palm over her mouth so he wouldn’t see her chew. You’re getting $400,000?

For a qualifying liquidation event

What does that mean, they put you in a blender

A private equity firm bought the company. Now they make it worth more and sell it to another private equity firm. The PE partners think they can get a 15x EBITDA multiple in this market. If that’s true, when they get paid out, and the principals get paid out, then my shares will vest in the Management Incentive Plan. The MIP. He said it like “mipp.”

Mipp, she said. Sounds like a gay sex move.

Haha

EBITDA sounds like the disease you get from it.

Anyway if those things happen then yes, we get $400,000. $600,000 with a 17x multiple. Although they’ll try to retain me, they may ask me to roll some of it over

Roll over for the EBITDA

But yeah I mean they’re talking like this could happen within 18 months, we could get a down payment on a house.

I can’t take that from you. I need to make my own way.

This is far in the future. Just know that your boyfriend’s rich.

Your pot roast is so good baby.

Thank you

Maybe it’s cuz it has iron, I got my period. And you’re still gonna write your book right

Of course. But for that money they want more of my time. But think about writing it in a house. Think about a yard.

He knew he was wrong. He could see her pick up on it. It was still not enough. With a down payment of everything, a mortgage was $8,000 a month for 30 years. The money had told him.

Twice a week he woke up at 4 for conference calls with India. The CEO took Adderall and twitched when he Facetimed you at night.

The liquidation event took three years. It was not qualifying.

She’d left him by then. Nathan was a white graffiti artist. Once a week his mom did his laundry. She’d said he was a friend. He might even be gay.

On Instagram he saw their picture kissing. I love you forever baby, she wrote in the caption.

The new owners had cut some benefits, including mental health leave.

**

At your age you need two million, said the money. An ashy voice rasping and slithering somewhere in the walls. To get a girl who’ll keep the baby.

Fuck you. I’m spending you. I’m gonna do what I want.

PPO insurance is $800 a month, said the money. Picture your mother with dementia. But he wasn’t listening.

He flew to the Philippines. Business class. $12,032. The money made a sound like it was passing a kidney stone. He leased a house in Dumaguete. Coconut orchards stretching to the beach. He met a girl. Miriam. Or Marian. It was hard to tell what she was saying. They sounded like sparrows.

They ate mangoes. She had a family reunion every week and she took him. Holding his hand, proud of her American boyfriend. Smiling over the barbecue covered with fish that looked chrome plated.

Nang ba oogity boogity kwarta, they would say.

Amerikwan ba KWARTA!

Kwarta kwarta kwarta, they said. Like an incantation. Was it their word for love? For Jesus?

You know what it means, said the money.

It doesn’t matter. This is paradise. You can live here on $20K.

Look around, said the money. You’re gonna be paying for 100 third cousins. The whole city. You’re not getting off that easy.

**

When the baby didn’t look like him he got a credit card and flew back to California.

He started drinking. Then taking pills. Then shooting fentanyl.

Trying to get to the head of the line.

Then he was living in a tent by the 110, shitting in the river.

Semi trucks roared by his head in the downpour outside. You need to be out there hustling, said the money. It was $17 in wrinkled small bills.

The tent door zipped open. Two of his neighbors stomped in. They said what do you got white boy.

They were beating him with a bike lock. Smashing his teeth. The fent was wearing off and he could feel it when a boot took his eye. No, he said weeping. What are you gonna do, said the money. But their fingers were in his filthy jacket, ripping it out of him.

He could hear it grousing as they walked away. Softer and softer.

He had one hit left and he cooked it up. Fuck you, he murmured to no one. I’ll do what I want. And he listened for a voice but none came.

And in the silence he was free. And it was warm. And his mother held him dancing and showed him the rain.

When he woke up he was stuck to ground. It was hard to roll over. Hard to open his one eye. But he did. On the concrete he saw a lucky penny.

Pick me up, it said.