Dumb Luck Read online

  We sat down on the rocks by a jetty and watched some surfers in the water catching some very clean shoulder-high waves. “I’d like to try that,” I said.

  “I had a few lessons,” Taylor said. “It’s not easy at first, but once you get it, it’s a total stoke. Hey, maybe you should learn to surf. Put it on your list.”

  “What list?”

  “The list of things you’re going to do with your life, now that money has given you the freedom to do whatever you want.”

  “Is that what I have?” I asked, looking up at a dozen or so seagulls that were swirling round in the blue sky above. “Freedom?”

  “You do. As long as you take charge. That’s one of the things I learned along the way. You hungry?”

  “Actually, I am. I didn’t eat lunch.”

  “Neither did I. Let’s go find someplace expensive. You’re buying, right?”

  I laughed. “So that’s how you take charge?”

  “That’s it.”

  And an expensive meal it was. It came to over a hundred dollars and I didn’t have that much with me. I’d left most of my cash and my credit cards at home. So, in the end, we split the cost. Taylor didn’t seem to mind at all. She smiled. “We’re going to have to work on you a bit. Bring you up to speed.”

  On the drive home, she told me the story of her life. Parents divorced when she was young, mom remarried to an asshole. Divorced. Remarried to another asshole. “It’s like she’s a magnet for them. But now she’s single again. And I feel like I never really had a father at all. What about your parents?”

  I told her about my mom and about my dad and his current plans.

  “You’re lucky. You have them both. Be good to them.” Almost every time she opened her mouth, she surprised me with what she had to say. She wasn’t at all the bitchy, spoiled, hot girl that I had imagined.

  Taylor stopped in front of my house. A couple of kids from school were across the street and looked our way. While they were watching, she leaned across and kissed me again. First she put her tongue in my ear and I felt her breasts pushing up against me. Then she took my face in her hands and kissed me like the first time at the stoplight. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.

  When I walked into the house, there was new furniture in the living room and my mom was smiling. “What do you think?” she asked.

  The truth was I liked our old furniture. Now the place looked different and it didn’t quite seem comfortable any more. I wasn’t at all sure I liked the change. But my mom was happy. So what the heck. “It’s looks great,” I said.

  When my dad came home, my mom hugged him and he seemed tired but happy. “It’s all coming together,” he said. “I should be up and running soon. Brandon, I have another appointment at the bank tomorrow around three. I’ll pick you up at school and we can run over. Some papers to sign and that sort of thing. Also, they’ll have some ideas about what you should be investing your money in.”

  Now he was pushing me again, taking charge in a way I didn’t like at all. I didn’t like him making decisions for me, telling me where to be and when, and what to do with my money. But I didn’t say anything.

  He tapped me lightly on the shoulder. “Trust me. This stuff is important. No time to lose.”

  I wasn’t very hungry for dinner after the expensive late lunch. My mom watched me just push the food around on my plate. I got up after a bit and went up to my room. I still had the feel of Taylor’s lips lingering on my mind. Was that for real or was she just using me like she said the others would? By the time I sat down at my computer and checked my e-mail, I realized I was way overdue for a reality check. More requests from desperate people looking for financial help. More self-introductions from girls and women I did not know. Even a couple of guys wondering if I was gay. One guy said I looked gay in the newspaper photos and that kind of ticked me off. Another long e-mail from the twenty-one-year-old who wondered if I’d like to spend the weekend with her at a cottage up the coast. Whoa.

  And then this from Kayla: I never want to speak to you again.

  Someone saw me getting into Taylor’s BMW and driving away from the school and reported it to Kayla. I could see what she was thinking.

  I called her cell to explain, but as I started to talk, she had only two words for me. “Fuck off,” she said and hung up.

  I tried calling back but she didn’t answer. Then I found myself going back to my inbox and beginning to read the flattering e-mails from my admirers. More unreality. That’s when I noticed the list of names by my computer. Right. Carver’s “homework.”

  So I Googled the first name on the list.

  Desmond Williams. Desmond Williams won eight million in the New Jersey Lottery and his girlfriend sued him for half of what he won. His brother, Vic, hired a hit man to try to kill him in hopes of inheriting the wealth. Desmond had his own share of legal problems and ended up in jail after smashing his car into the front of a bank while driving impaired. Within three years, he was living on his own and bankrupt.

  I blinked at the screen, not sure if this was a joke or not. So I Googled the name again and found the same story on a number of sites. Next up on the list was Molly Reilly. She won $5.2 million in an Ontario lottery and within two years lost all her money betting on horse races and gambling in casinos. “Winning the lottery isn’t always what people think it would be,” she said. She lost her house once she was bankrupt and ended up living in a trailer. “Once the money was gone, all my friends deserted me,” she had told the papers. Poor ole Molly.

  I was beginning to get the picture.

  Number three: Renata Collins. She won $2.2 million in 1997 in Texas and invested most of it in the stock market. Unfortunately, her hotshot financial advisor had picked the wrong stocks. When her nephew came down with a serious illness (and no health insurance), Renata had to liquidate her losing stocks to help him, costing her over a million dollars in medical bills, and before it was all over, the winnings were gone and so was the meager $30,000 she had previously saved toward her retirement.

  Number four. David Nobel won a million in California in 2006, quit his job, divorced his wife, and married a much younger woman. They moved to Hawaii and within less than a year, she was divorcing him and taking half of what he had won. After that, depressed and alone, he gave away what was left of his money randomly to people on the street, until all he had left was enough money for airfare back to California, where he got his old job back as a car mechanic at $20 an hour.

  Next up was Boyd Carson who won four million, only to get himself addicted to crystal meth. He murdered his drug dealer and ended up in prison.

  In 1999, Sylvia Jackson won a cool $12 million and began to give it all away, bit by bit, to environmental organizations, charities for orphans, research for cancer, and almost anyone who asked or who was in need. Unfortunately, she didn’t protect any of it for herself and ended up losing her home and filing for bankruptcy.

  Dean Smith was another winner from British Columbia whose $5 million win led to divorce, various lawsuits, and family alienation.

  Poor Jim Davis won ten million and was almost immediately kidnapped and held for ransom. He was murdered before the police could find him and the murderer was never found.

  And finally, Brad Stermer, at age seventy, won an incredible $21 million in an Arizona lottery. He was more than generous to his family, giving away two million each to his four sons, two daughters, and his seven grandchildren. Sadly, one of the teenaged grandsons used his newfound wealth to get addicted to crack cocaine and died of an overdose. Brad’s wife left him and many in his family stopped talking to him. He ended up turning to drink for comfort and watched his life go down the toilet.

  I guess I could have kept up my research and looked for more. But I’d come to the end of Mr. Carver’s list and didn’t want to dig further.

  chapterfifteen

  My
head was spinning when I went to bed and I had another night of not being able to sleep. I was a little ticked off at Carver for wanting to rain on my parade. None of that bad stuff would happen to me. I wouldn’t let it happen.

  But it was starting to sink in. I was going to have to use my head. I’d been coasting most of my life. I had never had to look out for my back. And I also had never tried too hard at anything. Never really put my full brain to work.

  And I’d been okay with that.

  But maybe it wasn’t going to work like that anymore.

  Maybe having a pile of money was itself like some kind of job. Maybe even a difficult job that you had to work at.

  I had a free period in the morning and dropped by Mr. Carver’s office. I owed him that for cutting me some slack.

  “How’s the life of the rich and famous?” he asked.

  “I’m learning the ropes.”

  “Good. You look up those names?”

  “Oh, yeah. Man, those people had some bad luck.”

  “Maybe it was bad decisions.”

  “I don’t know. It didn’t seem that way. Some of those people were trying very hard to do the right thing. Even they got screwed.”

  “You got a plan for avoiding the pitfalls?”

  “No plan. But I’m getting a few theories.”

  “Like?”

  “Like going slow.”

  “Brilliant. I agree.”

  “Like using my head.”

  “I like it even better.”

  “Trouble is, I’m starting to see how every good thing I might want to do could go wrong. Every smart thing I could do might come back and bite me in the ass. So maybe why not just go with the flow and see what happens?”

  “Go with the flow,” Carver said sarcastically. “Now there’s a plan.” And he just stared at me.

  I didn’t particularly like the way that made me feel. “What would you do with the money?” I tossed back at him.

  “I can’t answer that. I wouldn’t have bought the lottery ticket in the first place.”

  “What if someone had bought it and given it to you—like a birthday present—and then you won?”

  “I would have burned the ticket and told no one that I’d won.”

  “I don’t believe it,” I said. He had to be bullshitting me.

  He laughed. “Okay. You got me. I don’t know what I’d do. Maybe I’d be tempted to take it.”

  “And you really wouldn’t quit your job?”

  “Nope. I like my job. I told you that. Anyway, this is not about me. It’s about you.”

  Mr. Carver was back to being a little too cocky. I was feeling devilish. “Suppose I decide to start giving money away to people—anyone I want to. Just for the hell of it?”

  “Why do that?”

  “Just because I can. Maybe it’ll do some good.”

  “Or harm. You read about Jackson and Stermer. I’m sure there were others.”

  “What if I wanted to give you $20,000? Just for the hell of it?”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “’Cause I wanted to. Would you accept it?”

  “No. I have principles.”

  “I’m not sure I believe you.”

  “Brandon, I can see that, in one way, this whole thing has got your brain engaged. I don’t know you really well, but it seems to me like you’ve been sleepwalking through school the whole time you’ve been here.”

  I felt a chill run down my spine because that was so true. That was exactly the way school had felt to me.

  “But now you’re awake. You are fully aware. You’re just a tad confused.”

  “Yeah, I know that. But maybe it’s something in the stars. Maybe I was supposed to win the money. Maybe it’s just the beginning of a lucky streak.”

  “Ain’t no such thing as a lucky streak. And forget the stars. What are you doing? Reading the astrology column in the mornings now?”

  “No. I just think that maybe I have more good luck coming my way. Like you say, my eyes are open now. I’m—what was it?—‘fully engaged.’ All I have to do is recognize what’s around me, what’s going on, and I’ll be the luckiest eighteen-year-old on the face of the earth.”

  Wow. Now I was giving speeches. Carver was so right that this was a new me. I never talked like this before. I just let the world happen—I let events wash over me. This was different.

  “About that luck thing. ‘Luck,’ someone said, ‘is a dividend of sweat. The more you sweat, the luckier you get.’”

  “Who said that?”

  “Guy named Ray Kroc.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “He was the founder of McDonald’s.”

  “Kind of a funny guy to be quoting.”

  “I’m not saying the man is my kind of hero. I’m just saying he’s probably right.” The bell rang in the hall. Carver smiled and looked directly at me. “Better get to class, Brandon. Stay in touch, cowboy. Go as slow as you can with whatever you decide. And thanks for dropping in.”

  I didn’t see Kayla at all that day. Taylor found me, though, at my locker and gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, making enough fuss to ensure that plenty of people saw. But it wasn’t quite real. More like something you do in a movie. All show.

  Back in history class, as North America was moving through the Depression, I was strangely more interested than usual. All that stuff about banks failing, people losing their money. Me, with my afternoon meeting with my first banker. Maybe I was going to have to get up to speed on this financial thing pretty quickly.

  And then math class. Numbers. Calculations. Percentages. Mr. Grimer would put a really large number on the board and I saw that number with a dollar sign in front of it. Six zeros in three million, right? What if I could turn three million into ten million? Then what? My dad had already been hinting at me “investing” some of my money. Such a thing had not really occurred to me. You have money, you spend it. That’s the way it’s been for me all my life.

  My dad was there at the end of school, right on time. We drove to the bank. My dad seemed a bit nervous and talkative. “You’ll like Len Cranmore,” he said.

  “Who?”

  “Guy at the bank. He’s set up the loan. And he’s a financial advisor.”

  I nodded. So I was going to have to look at the sober side of this whole thing, maybe. Loans. Investments. Who knows?

  Funny thing—walking into the bank. All I’d ever done was take twenty or forty bucks out of the bank machine or deposited a check or two I’d gotten for Christmas, birthdays, or mowing someone’s lawn. I’d always felt like I’d been treated like a kid whenever I’d walked up to a teller. Like I didn’t belong there. And now this.

  The receptionist led us immediately into Len Cranmore’s office.

  “Coffee?” she asked me and my dad.

  “No, thanks,” we both said at once.

  Len was all about business. Clean cut. Suit and tie. Picture of his family in a frame on his desk. He handed me a business card and spoke directly to me instead of my father, which seemed weird. “Brandon, congratulations.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Hey, lucky us, that you were one of our customers. Thanks for staying with us.”

  “No problem.”

  “Now, it’s our job—my job—to help you make the most of your winning.”

  I could tell he was trying hard to sound sincere. Heck, maybe he was. I just knew that we were here because of me and my luck. Len Cranmore would not have loaned me a hundred bucks to buy a bicycle if I’d walked in here three months ago.

  “So, Brandon, your father has explained to me about the business you two will be starting. I assume you’re okay with all this?”

  I think I hesitated for just a second. Then I looked at my dad. He was looking straight at me. “
Sure,” I finally said. What was the point in owning up to any doubts now?

  “And the loan?”

  I looked at my dad. He’d mentioned the loan but we hadn’t really discussed it, and I didn’t exactly know why I was part of it. My dad saw the confusion on my face.

  “The loan,” he began. “I need more than $60,000 to start the business properly, Brandon.”

  “Then why didn’t you just ask for all the money?” I blurted out. Not that I really wanted to be any deeper into this. I just didn’t know why he needed even more money.

  “Well,” he said. “Because it is your money. You’re putting up enough. We borrow the rest from the bank.”

  “And your investments,” Cranmore added as he leaned in my direction, “will act as collateral for the loan.”

  I didn’t understand the word “collateral” but decided not to show off my ignorance.

  “I didn’t want to use the house for that,” my dad added.

  I wondered why this hadn’t been fully discussed. I was thinking now of those lottery disaster stories now. Some of those winners had borrowed money—despite the fact that they had millions. Why were we borrowing money?

  “How much is the loan?” I asked Cranmore instead of my dad.

  “A hundred,” he said.

  “A hundred?”

  “Thousand,” my dad added, looking at my uncertainty.

  Cranmore cleared his throat and looked at me. “You’ll have to sign for withdrawal of the sixty and then on the loan for the hundred. And then we’re going to talk about how you begin to make money on your money. That’s the fun part.”

  The fun part? I knew I was in way over my head and was pissed at my father for not fully explaining what this was all about. But I had to trust him, right? He was my father. And I didn’t want to embarrass him or me—showing off my lack of knowledge. And this was a reputable bank, right? It wasn’t like we were borrowing from a loan shark. And I didn’t want to use my home as—what was it?—collateral.

  “If he ... or we ... can’t pay back the loan, then what?” I asked.