The truth of me had broken us.

Chapter Four

Given the size of Harvard’s endowment and the immense block of recently freed-up time in my schedule, and having worn out my welcome in and around Boston, I began looking into study abroad scholarships and found one custom-made for guys like me—finance-minded juniors with off-the-charts test scores, all A’s in math, no parents, no siblings, and no extended family. What the scholarship board called a “child of prodigy and hardship.” Funny how there’s so little difference between “prodigy” and “prodigal.” The summer after my junior year, the Pickering-Kuscht Scholarship sent me to London, where I studied derivatives, leverage, and the emerald-green eyes of a goddess named Amanda Pickering.

Amanda was beautiful, self-confident, loved to run, and—​fortunately for me—directionally challenged. After I quit track, I rediscovered my love of running—much of which I did at night, so while most of my classmates made the rounds of the British pubs sampling gallons of Guinness, I ran the streets of London. Incidentally, so did Amanda. Only difference was that I could find my way back to my hotel once I turned around. We’d been in a couple of classes together but given that she was a bit guarded, it was no wonder that we’d never said two words to each other. Amanda also had one other trait much talked about among the fathers and sons of the New England elite: She was the sole heir to the Pickering fortune. Her college experience was her father’s personal talent search among the East’s best and brightest to find someone to manage his precious money. One night, about 1:00 a.m., I found her—several miles from our hotel—standing next to an Underground sign attempting to read a map. She glanced at me but was too proud to admit she needed help.

It was pretty common knowledge that her father had put her up in one of those top-floor penthouses at the Ritz. I put my finger on the map. “The Ritz is here.”

She glanced at me out of the corners of her eyes, nodded, and acted as though she were studying the map for an alternate route home. “Yep.”

Her eyes still had yet to land on any one point on the map. I pointed again. “And…you’re over here.”

This only served to push the skin between her eyes closer and deepen the wrinkle, so I pointed behind her. “Which means you should run that way.”

She tilted her head, still trying to make sense of the map and not admit defeat. Finally, she turned to me. “I’ll bet you’re good with a Rubik’s Cube.”

“Fifty-two seconds.”

She shook her head and spoke, still trying to make sense of the map. “Been coming here my whole life but”—she wiped the sweat off her face—“looks so different in the daytime, and we always had a driver.”

I pushed against the lamppost like I was stretching my calves. “Yeah…me, too. ’Cept mine would never shut up. Talked the entire time. Couldn’t help but learn something. Knew this town like the back of my hand by the time I was eight.”

“I’m lost, and you’re making fun of me.”

I shook my head and continued to poke fun at her. “Good help is just tough to find these days.”

She smiled. “I’ve heard of you.”

“Really?”

“You’re that arrogant runner who’s been taking everybody’s money in poker. Even won a car.”

I shrugged. “It was his father’s and he’s got several more.”

A knowing chuckle. “Yes, he does.” She continued. “Then you went in front of Father’s scholarship board with some song and dance about how you’re all alone in this world. Making everybody feel sorry for you.”

“Father’s?”

“You’re Dad’s scholarship pick.”

“I thought a board decided that.”

She didn’t look at me. “You thought wrong.”

“I spent over an hour answering their questions.”

“Evidently, you answered them quite well.”

“I have a talent for telling people what they want to hear.”

“Are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“Self-effacing.”

“If I knew what that meant, I’d answer you.”

She shook her head once. “An honest man at Harvard.”

That’s twice in my life I’d been called honest. Funny. I didn’t feel it. I shrugged. “Sometimes being honest and telling the truth are not the same.”

She sized me up. “Daddy will be so impressed.”

“You tell him everything?”

“What I don’t tell him, Mr. Pickering discovers on his own.” A pause. “Money has its…responsibilities.”

“A lot of guys would shoulder that burden for you.”

A pause. “That include you?”

“I think whoever shoulders your financial burden will get your father’s approval long before he gets yours, and I have no desire to play that game.”

As one of the richest twenty-five and unders in the United States, my guess was that Amanda was not accustomed to being spoken to so plainly and with so little regard for how much financial leverage she wielded. I didn’t know whether she believed me or not, but she perceived my honesty as a breath of fresh air. “And you’d be right about that.”

“I’ll bet your high school experience was a blast.”

“It had its moments.”

“How many times did you run away?”

She smiled. “Every night.”

I chuckled. “Like now.”

More honesty. Another nod. “Yes, like now.”

I held out my hand. “Charlie Finn.”

She held my hand several seconds. “Amanda Pickering.”

I turned. “Come on. This conversation would’ve been over long ago if you knew your way home.”

The best way to describe our friendship was one of curious amusement. Unlike the other guys who’d literally stalked her, looking for the opportunity to strike and share their résumés—and, hopefully, her money—I’d stumbled upon her, and rather than play the rescuing knight, I’d poked fun at her—which set me apart from everyone else and which I think she appreciated.

My reason for this was pretty simple. I’d been playing poker long enough to know that there’s always somebody with greater skill, more chips, and better cards. This dictated that my chances with Amanda were zero, so why waste my time acting otherwise. As a result, we adopted somewhat of a take-it-or-leave-it attitude with each other. That meant unlike all the other guys lining up to take her out, we actually spent a good bit of time together.

The finance class I was taking culminated in a single project. On the first day, the professor had issued everyone a hundred thousand dollars in Monopoly money, then told us to create our own portfolio and keep him abreast of all trades. Stock picking had never really been my thing but research was, so I made some good decisions, shorted a few stocks, covered myself with some options and calls, and, as was consistent with my personality, held very few long positions. When the summer semester came to a close, my portfolio had outperformed my classmates’. This, more than my relationship with his daughter, caught the eye of Marshall Pickering. On the day before my return to Boston, Amanda offered to let me tag along on the family G5. A couple of other guys would be there. As tough as it was, I knew that if I wanted a chance with that girl I needed to not be like those guys. I needed to play it cool. I also had a pretty good idea the invite came through her father, given that I’d just won his portfolio contest. So I declined. “I’ve never traveled Europe much, so I’m going to take the train back through France and Spain. Get lost for a few days. Sample the beer and maybe the food.” I knew if I invited her that she’d come, and I knew she wanted to. I also knew that this relationship would never make the return trip across the ocean. Daddy would see to that. I waved her off. “I’ll see you back in Boston.” I smiled and then pointed west. “It’s that way.”

She laughed, held my hand for a second longer than she should, and that’s when I knew she’d fallen for me. Amanda was strong, independent, highly intelligent, incredibly good-looking, and she had—or would have—more money than she could spend in ten lifetimes. She was also a pawn in Daddy’s world. And while her dad loved her, I had a feeling he loved his money more.