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He hasn’t seen or spoken to his best friend much since their boating weekend. There was something about seeing Connor’s $250K loan, gift, whatever it was, appear in his bank account a few days later, even after Alex had turned it down, that had set Alex off. He wasn’t righteous enough to send it back, especially since he spent it as fast as it came in, covering payroll, but still. It got to him that Connor was always trying to show off—the private jets and the truffles imported from Italy and the custom-fitted T-shirts from Tokyo, it was all so obscene. It’s embarrassing that he has to show off so much. And that’s what Connor giving him that money was all about: another way to show off. Another way to rub his success in Alex’s face.

Alex has always prided himself on how much he hated money, and for a long time wanted to prove (to himself? To his grandfather?) that he could live without it. Thus, the old shabby Toyota he drove until the engine practically fell out. The thrift-store sweaters. But who was he kidding? Pretending not to have money (and when it was convenient, at that) was a far cry from actually not having it. His efforts to cosplay poverty were their own sort of gross.

Alex is a hypocrite, but who isn’t? Like everyone who swears off Amazon and then complains the toilet paper at Hartwell is too expensive and re-ups their Prime membership. It suddenly seems very important to tell Connor this, so Alex dials. But as soon as Connor answers, his tone immediately turns Alex off and he wants to hang up, but he can’t, he’s trapped, both on this call and in this new habit of immediately regretting every decision he makes, the very second he makes it.

“I’ve been calling you, dude. Are you avoiding me?”

“Yeah, I mean, no, man, no, s-s-sorry about that. Just been busy grinding, nose to the ground, ya know.”

“Uhhhh, sounds like nose in a bottle is more like it, huh? Do I need to pack you off to rehab next time I send Schuster?”

“That’s not funny.”

“Who says I’m trying to be funny? I’m worried about you. With your dad…”

Connor was one of the few people Alex had told about his dad’s alcoholism and the true reason for the fatal car crash that orphaned him. They were at Tate and drinking whatever malt liquor and beer they could get their hands on, and Alex had mentioned that he had fucked-up genes and had to be careful. This is why you shouldn’t tell friends shit, so they can’t throw it in your face to make a point. He’s relieved he never confessed to Connor how drinking makes him feel close to his dead father. Alex never visits his parents’ grave. He’s too scared that he won’t feel anything, any connections. Or maybe he’s scared that he will and that it will be painful. But more and more over the years, he’s found that staring down an empty tumbler is the closest he comes to communing with his father’s spirit, which is completely fucked-up, but also nice, which is itself fucked-up.

“Given that you sound three sheets to the wind, we shouldn’t even be having this conversation now, but this shit is time sensitive. That’s why I’ve been practically stalking you. And I’m stoked. Let’s just say, I got you an early Christmas present, locked and loaded!”

“What is it, a Patek Philippe Aquanaut?”

“Better! I have a buyer for Hartwell.”

“What are you talking about, Con?”

“There’s a PE firm interested. Owned by a buddy of mine who specializes in taking over mid-sized consumer products retailers. I told him about Hartwell, and he wants to buy it.”

“Come on? Just like that?”

“Well, no, no. Not ‘ just like that,’ I did a lot of legwork and persuading to make a case to them. I already had your numbers and everything. You sent me all the financials to review ahead of your board meeting, remember? That was the due diligence they needed. There will be some other hoops, obviously, but they have an offer prepared, a decent one if you really want to get this monkey off your back, and I’ve been trying to bring it to you.”

“You didn’t have my permission to share our financials!”

“Are you fucking for real? I’m trying to help you!”

“I don’t know how much of a help it is… Private equity means layoffs.” Alex thinks of Chuck and Barb.

“Well, yeah. There’ll be some collateral damage. Look, I thought this would be good news. You can get out of this scot-free. You don’t need to worry about fixing things. No need to right the ship when you can jump off. Collect a fat check and figure out what you want to do next.”

Alex tries not to see this as an indictment of his ability to “fix things.”

“My grandfather would never approve. The company is his baby, his legacy.”

“Emphasis his, not yours. I’ve read the bylaws, he can’t veto a sale outright and besides, you told me he almost burned the house down leaving the stove on! That’s not a man in a position to advise on business decisions.”

Alex completely forgot he had texted Connor that. From the bar a couple weeks ago. He just wanted a friend to tell him it would be okay. Connor had sent a thumbs-down emoji in response.

“Con, I’ve been at the helm for less than two months. I can’t fail that fast.”

But then he remembers you can—you can trip on the curb and go flying, just like that.

“That’s the beauty of this! It’s not a failure! It’s a smart, strategic decision you’re making. You inherited that mess. Nothing to do with you. And now you’re just cutting your losses. And making a pretty penny in the process. You didn’t even ask what the offer is.”

Connor tells him the number, and Alex lets it flash in his mind like the neon sign, loud and beckoning.

“And that’s just the starting point. So seriously, Alex. You have to consider this. And you have to take it to your board.”

“You make it sound like a hostile takeover…”