Page 33 of Meet Mason, the Billionaire

“Twelve thousand dollars?” I sputtered. “I thought it was just graffiti?”

“It was, but it’s hardly Bug’s first offense, and he had some choice words for the judge when he was arraigned…”

“Damn it, Junebug.”

“So will you ask him?”

I sighed, and nodded.

“Fine. I’ll ask him.”

I just hope he doesn’t think I’m after him for his money.

Chapter Fourteen

Mason

I was only taking a short flight up to Boston, but I still fell asleep on my private jet minutes after takeoff.

I dreamed of my grandfather, something I hadn’t done in some time.

The sun filtered through the verdant green of the ancient oak tree in front of my Grandpa’s two-story colonial house. Shadows dappled the front lawn and driveway, and shaded my lemonade stand from the harshness of the sun.

I sat on a stool behind my hand-made stand, feeling a bit foolish since I’d not had a customer all day long.

My grandpa came up the sidewalk, bearing a paper sack filled with groceries from the corner market. He paused in front of the stand and grinned.

“How’s it going, kiddo? Got enough for that new baseball mitt yet?”

“Not exactly.” I sighed and showed him my empty jar. “I guess I should pack it in. What a stupid idea.”

“Now, you can beat yourself up for having a stupid idea—or, you can look at why your idea didn’t work. Maybe it wasn’t stupid. Maybe you just got something wrong.”

He gestured at the house. “Come on, take a break and help me put away these groceries.”

“Sure thing, Grandpa.”

He put his free hand on my shoulder as we walked. “It’s true this neighborhood doesn’t get a lot of foot traffic. It’s mostly old retired people, like me. Do you remember me telling you the first rule of a business like this one?”

“Location, location, location?”

“Exactly. Do you think if you moved your drink stand two blocks north to the main drag, you might have better luck?”

“Yes,” I said. “I should have thought of that. I put my stand in front of the house cause that’s what I saw on TV.”

Grandpa nodded. “First rule. As much fun as television is, you shouldn’t use it as a basis for reality. Now, I have some ideas of how we can make your lemonade stand mobile…”

My eyes opened as the private jet descended toward the runway. I yawned and rubbed the sleep from them and sat up in my seat.

My dream had been so real. More of a memory in dream form than a fantastical trip to another realm. I took it as a sign that I needed to find that portrait, and soon.

A limo awaited me at the tarmac. I was flying into Boston to sign a few papers to make my ownership of a small but buzzworthy IT startup official. The limo hadn’t been arranged by me, but by them. I guess they were sucking up to the new boss.

Words can’t describe how much I hated suck-ups. On the other hand, they may have been trying to prove they were in the same ‘class’ as me which I could totally understand.

On the ride to the startup, I called Jack to see if she’d made any progress.

“Are you kidding me, dude?” She groaned. “I’ve been all over this like stink on shit. Why are you checking up on me?”

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