Page 16 of Return Billionaire to Sender

Can he refuse like that?

I’m supposed to be training him, but it feels like he’s the one in charge. The silence grows. A panicky feeling washes over my skin.

But then I remember this one time at the Bronx substation, when a police officer tried to bully me into handing over a postal customer’s mail. The postal customer was a suspect in something, but the mail is sacrosanct. I informed the police officer that he couldn’t take the mail without a warrant. The police officer kept hammering at me, giving reasons why I had to give it that minute.

I felt so scared and unsure, so I called my postal inspector and she told me it doesn’t matter what anybody says or demands. “Just repeat what you know over and over,” she’d said. “You don’t need more argument than a rule. A rule is the end of an argument.”

I jut out my chin and repeat Stella’s words best I can, “You were mandated by court of law to undergo a program designed by an accredited coach to improve your emotional intelligence. Th-this is that program.”

“I don’t think so,” he says.

“It’s court-mandated,” I say.

He just glowers.

I draw in a breath. “You were mandated to undergo a program to be designed by an accredited executive coach, were you not?”

His gaze burns at me. “And this is what you designed? What does whining about a building have to do with emotional intelligence?”

Repeat the rule, repeat the rule. “This is a program designed by an accredited executive coach,” I say.

“And will the film be featuring Corman at some point? Telling the tragic story of being fired by me?” he asks. “I’ll tell you right now—it was worth it. I’d do it again, lawsuit and all.”

I blink,unsure what he’s talking about, though I’m thinking Corman must have something to do with why Malcolm ended up with a court-ordered coach.

I’ve never met anybody like him. He’s a powerful, world-class beast of a man who belongs in a powerful world-class beast of a city like New York. A man who thinks Jada’s film is a joke. It’s not a joke, and Maisey is not “some old lady.”

Straighten up, make eye contact, speak from the belly, feel your voice resonate—that’s what my actress friend Mia always says when she tries to get me to be more assertive.

I straighten up. “You were mandated to undergo a program to be designed by an accredited executive coach.” I continue, feeling my voice resonate. “You are to watch it. Or...we’ll add more time to the back of the schedule, the back of the court-mandated hours.”

Oh my god. I sound demented. What am I even saying?

I hold my breath. No way will this work.

A muscle in his jaw fires. He gestures at the iPad. “Get on with it, then.”

Wait, what? It worked? I can’t believe it worked.

I start the iPad again. We have ten minutes left. Maisey tells about the time Jada cared for her when she got her broken hip. How the building is her only family. The movie cuts to Lizzie, telling how much she missed her family in Fargo. “All my friends in the world are here. This is my home,” Lizzie says.

I feel his eyes on me.

I straighten. Speaking from my belly best I can, I say, “You’re not watching.”

“Yes, I am.”

The video plays on. Jada really did a nice job on it—she’s an actress but she’s really interested in the filming side of things, too.

After a few more minutes, he says, “I have an eleven hard stop. Compelling as this all is.”

It’s ten fifty-two. Disheartened, I stop the video. “Those are people who live at 341 West Forty-fifth Street,” I say. “Are you familiar with it? It is a building that you’re about to tear down.”

His eyes narrow, as if in confusion, and then he smiles. His smile is huge and beautiful and it lights up his face and sets my heart pounding. His smile is the sun, blazing with light and warmth.

Am I actually getting through to him?

“That woman was Maisey Belleweather,” I continue. “She’s seventy-three, a retired Macy’s clerk. Without that community in that building, she’ll be alone in the world.”

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