Not even every month.
Usually once near Christmas.
One day dressed plainly enough that nobody recognized the developer whose photograph occasionally appeared in business magazines.
He took buses.
Sat in public libraries.
Ate in cheap restaurants.
Observed.
Margaret had grown up poor.
Walter had too.
But money changed how strangers behaved around you.
He discovered that in middle age.
People laughed harder.
Opened doors faster.
Remembered birthdays.
Waiters learned his name.
Charities invited him to tables where nobody had cared who Walter Ashford was at twenty-five.
Margaret once told him:
“If you ever want to know somebody, see how they treat the person who cannot improve their life.”
After she died, Walter began occasionally testing whether the city still contained people like her.
James thought the practice was manipulative.
Walter privately suspected James was right.
That morning, however, had affected him more than usual.
The waitress had not simply fed him.
She had confronted a stranger for taking a coin.
Then given away money she clearly did not have much of.
Walter said:
“Her name is Danny Mercer.”
James nodded.
“I heard.”
“Find out about her.”
James looked at him through the mirror.
“How much?”
Walter caught himself.
“No financial records.”
“No background investigation.”
“No digging into private things.”
“Good.”
“Just enough to know whether she’s always like that.”
James smiled slightly.
“So ask Gus?”
“Exactly.”
“And perhaps the businesses nearby.”
“Yes.”
James turned toward downtown.
“What are you thinking?”
Walter looked through the window.
“I’m not sure yet.”
That answer lasted until dinner.
Walter’s son arrived at his house at seven twelve.
Ethan Ashford was thirty-six and had spent most of his adult life making sure nobody could accuse him of receiving his career purely because of his father.
Unfortunately, being the son of Walter Ashford meant everybody accused him anyway.
He had studied finance at Northwestern.
Worked six years for a property investment firm in Chicago under people who had no relationship with his family.
Returned to Columbus at thirty-one after Margaret’s death and joined Ashford Urban Development as director of acquisitions.
By thirty-six, he was executive vice president.
He was excellent at his job.
That was both the best and worst thing about him.
Ethan saw systems.
Land value.
Capital stacks.
Construction timelines.
Occupancy rates.
Risk.
He could look at a dying commercial block and understand three possible ways to make it profitable before most people finished complaining about parking.
He was disciplined.
Intelligent.
Controlled.
And increasingly impatient with anything that did not fit into a measurable outcome.
Walter loved him.
Walter also occasionally wanted to shake him.
Ethan entered the library holding a tablet.
“If this is about tomorrow’s meeting, I already read the report.”
“It isn't.”
Walter sat near the fireplace wearing normal clothes now.
James had returned his watch.
Ethan noticed the navy coat on the chair.
His expression changed.
“You wore that thing again?”
“Careful.”
“It’s a rag.”
“James already insulted it.”
“Then for once James is correct.”
Walter pointed toward the other chair.
“Sit.”
Ethan remained standing.
“I have calls.”
“Sit anyway.”
Ethan sat.
Walter said:
“I met someone.”
Ethan immediately stood again.
“No.”
Walter laughed.
“You don't even know what I was going to say.”
“You used the tone.”
“What tone?”
“The one you use before suggesting I meet somebody’s daughter.”
Walter had been doing that occasionally for three years.
Ethan had dated.
Had relationships.
Two serious enough to meet Walter.
Neither lasted.
His last relationship ended eighteen months earlier, largely because Ethan worked even while technically on vacation.
Since then, he claimed he was not interested.
Walter believed he had simply become comfortable being inaccessible.
“I happened to meet a charming young woman today.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“And I assume she has a pulse.”
“She’s a waitress.”
Ethan opened his eyes.
“You found a waitress for me?”
“I met a woman who happens to be a waitress.”
“Same difference.”
Walter leaned back.
“No.”
“There is a very large difference.”