There once was a young man born of a wealthy father. The young man wanted to make his father proud, as most young men do. And that was a difficult task.

The father was an industrious type with callousness more prominent than his bushy eyebrows, and disdain more distinct than the amber streak in his coffee-black hair. Strong of will, laconic, he nevertheless constantly reminded his son that he had tough growing up, whereas the son did not.

Then again, everyone had it tough in those days for it was an age of disproportionate wealth inequality. Still the father’s youth was better than most, especially since he had lost his own father to the great flu epidemic.

These details were not lost to the son.

Still, according to the son, the family’s wealth was due to the father’s resourcefulness and work ethic. And that was true–as far as it went.

The father did all sorts of jobs that boys did at the time: delivery boy, curb washer, caddy, newsie. He worked hard by the standards of the day, but so did everyone else. And many, yes, even most, worked harder.

That was because his own father–the young man’s grandfather–left his mother in relative financial stability. Oddly, one rarely heard this caveat from the father and almost never from the son.

One might think this was due to the grandfather’s investment in brothels–and, unquestionably, that revenue stream had something to do with it. But the main reason the father and the son were so tight lipped about their generational wealth was because of the grandfather’s wife, who incidentally–by their standards, anyway–was also the mother and the grandmother.

Once again, one might think this secrecy might coincide with something scandalous. It did not.

At least not in the traditional sense.

The widow had a good head on her rather comely shoulders. Consequently her husband talked to her about his business at times, and when he didn’t, she listened to him talk about it to others. One evening she heard him bragging about some empty lots he had acquired and planned to sell to a builder acquaintance for a hefty profit.

So after the husband died, she waited for the acquaintance show up and he did, with hat in hand, ever so remorseful for her loss, enquiring about the lots, which she expected and subtlety (or so he thought) nudging her toward an affair, which she also expected. Naturally he was quite taken aback when he was rebuffed.

Even more so when he found out why.

She found him uncouth.

Beyond that, according to his banker, her plan was to invest every red cent of her husband’s money into building apartment homes on the lots.

To be continued…