it's thinking of yourself less.
—C.S. Lewis
Park Hyatt, Toronto
Greer arranged for me to meet the following day with Reginald Dennison, a corporation lawyer, who offered to look into my case.
But tonight, we were both feeling a bit overwhelmed by the thought of having to confront a veritable phalanx of legal experts Jeff had employed to defend him, led by the unscrupulous and wily Phil Myers.
It was a daunting prospect.
"I think we should go out for drinks and kick back a bit tonight," Greer suggested, "tomorrow will be another challenging day for you and I don't want you experiencing burn out."
"It's your dime," I smiled.
"Don't worry, you'll pay me back. This is just a temporary setback and you'll overcome it.
"Were you a cheerleader at school?" I teased.
"Actually, I was," she laughed, "but it was high school. I burned the midnight oil in university to maintain my scholarship. My parents weren't rich."
"So you know the value of a dollar."
"That's right, Wunderkind, and that's why this isn't charity. I'm investing in you—don't disappoint me."
Wouldn't dream of it, I mused inwardly.
We ended up at the rooftop bar at the Park Hotel, overlooking the university grounds and the Toronto skyline.
"I prefer a laid-back atmosphere," she smiled, compared to that dreadful pub where we met."
"Hey, it wasn't my choice—and come to think of it, why were you there, if you hated it so much?"
She rolled her eyes, "I didn't have a choice either. Lauren, my friend, was meeting a hockey player there. I was just tagging along because I had no plans that evening—until I met you."
I guess it was Fate," I grinned, "it's not every day a beautiful woman takes an interest in me."
"Why do you do that?" she asked.
I looked at her, perplexed. "Do what?"
"Why do you spell your name in lower case letters? Is it false humility?"
"I'm not being humble—just real. I only want to be accepted for who I am. It's too much work to keep shoring up a false image."
"Well, I think you should re-assess yourself—take inventory of who you are and then raise your estimation by ten percent. You're way too hard on yourself."
"I'll take that under advisement," I grimaced, "but I'm not promising anything."
"Ah, the Common Man—you wear your humble origins like a badge of honour."
I smiled broadly. "I like it. It suits me."
She grew thoughtful for a moment. "Tell me this—you're a clever guy—how did you ever allow your friend Jeff to swindle you out of your company?"
I went silent, finding it painful to confront that harsh reality.
"Guess the plain truth is, I trusted Jeff too far. I was out of the country on an extended workshop in South America."
She smirked at my answer. "What were you doing at that 'workshop'? Learning how to flip more properties for a bigger profit?"
"Nothing like that, " I frowned. "I was learning how to renew an urban cityscape by providing low-cost housing for the poor."
"You're kidding," she whispered.
I shook my head. "No, that was my goal all along—was just looking for an effective way of doing it."
"Phew!" she sighed, "Reginald Dennison is going to love you. He's all into looking after the needs of the unhoused."
"In that case," I smiled, clinking glasses with her, "I think we'll both get along very well."