How Jules Dubois Regained Inches in Height and Years of Life He Didn't Know He Had Lost
“So, Miss Louisa here says that you and she make a mean investing team, Mr. Jules Dubois.”
That was Thomas Stepforth Sr., sitting in his home library with the man he was about to hire for a major project in Lofton County VA.
Jules Dubois's heart melted at the thought that his nine-year-old niece, Louisa Dubois Chennault, had gotten his foot into the door with one of the country's few Black billionaires for a job.
The Dubois family of Black French Louisiana that had moved to Virginia had three wayward sons out of eleven children. One had come home, and he was the most skilled. Jules had done some bad investing in his years in New York, but, when he had needed to recoup himself, he had been able to do so even in the stock market crash occasioned in March 2020 by Covid-19. He had since done solid, sensible investing to help support himself and his family upon returning home.
That was actually what had gotten Mr. Stepforth's attention. He knew Louisa well, as she was one of Lofton County's Black youth who were part of the tech and finance mentorship he provided through one of his non-profits, and he had been intrigued when she had come in one day overjoyed about doing a “slime, glitter, and bubblegum” portfolio with her uncle.
The thing was, the portfolio was super solid.
The Dubois family had two quants, in it, apparently – their technical analysis and mathematical working out of the options spreads left no possible other alternative.
Jules and Louisa just had no idea what they were.
But, Mr. Stepforth did.
He did not let on, however, because it was like announcing to two people who were not prepared that they had superpowers. This was the difficult thing about life, even though Jules Dubois was 45 … no matter the age, and no matter the need, you hurt people if you developed them in their gifts beyond their maturity.
Jules, already, had nearly made a hash of his life … too much money, too much exposure to the kind of life New York offered, too much insecurity to overcome as a young Black man who had to prove everybody wrong. Mr. Stepforth's heart went out to the younger man, for he also had been a young Black man from the rural South who had sought his fortune in New York. He understood what had happened to Jules Dubois, in a way that the Dubois family was simply not equipped to understand.
Mr. Stepforth had wanted to help, and at last thought of a way to do it.
Young Mr. Dubois did extremely well during his interview, and it didn't hurt that his niece Louisa was sitting by him, hanging on to him in silent encouragement.
Mr. Stepforth closed the interview with a smile, and a twinkle in his eye.
“I think this could be a great partnership,” he said, “but there's just one problem.”
“What?” uncle and niece said.
“I can't employ you, Miss Louisa,” Mr. Stepforth said. “Child labor laws and such.”
“Oh, snap – I forgot!” Louisa said, and then unconsciously imitated her grandmother, born in the days when women were allowed nowhere near such conversations: “Well, if Uncle Jules is in the door, it's just as good as me being in the door because I can trust him to do right by me. I'm counting you to get it done, Uncle Jules, and I know you won't let us or Mr. Stepforth down.”
Ever wanted to laugh and cry at the same time? That's where Jules Dubois was, just then.
Mr. Stepforth, while controlling his own laughter, gently diverted Louisa with “See any new books you might like to read while your uncle and I get set up?”
“Yes – could you reach me Simon and Schuster's Guide to Gems and Precious Stones? I'm trying to model just the right glitter mix on alexandrite, and that's a hard color to grasp.”
“Of course, Miss Louisa.”
Mr. Dubois wanted to laugh just as badly as Mr. Stepforth did, but there was just something about the serious-minded cuteness of Louisa that just wouldn't let them do it as she bounced over to the chair set aside for her after waving at Vertran Stepforth, eight years old, who was writing in a huge notebook in the chair set aside for him.
“Well,” Mr. Stepforth said to Mr. Dubois, “welcome to the Morton Consortium Working Group, sir. You have met my equally un-hired business partner, my grandson Vertran there, who if we let him would come over here and read the contract and non-disclosure documents right along with us.”
“I guess they are going to need to know more than we did at their age,” Mr. Dubois said.
“I suppose so,” Mr. Stepforth said, “but all the same we must make the world as safe for them as possible, which brings us to the work we will begin once we do the necessary paperwork.”
Something Jules Dubois had forgotten until he had signed off and seen the project before him: asking more questions during an interview was a good thing, because it was not always fun to be surprised.
“The Morton Consortium desires to purchase Lofton Dynast Hospital from its present owners before the Lofton Trust has to step in and rescue the asset,” Mr. Stepforth said. “Not that the Lofton Trust would not make decent owners, but once they have it, it will not be available again in our lifetimes, and we are in desperate need of a hospital in rural Lofton County that our people feel safe to go to during this medical crisis.”
“Dad is often saying how much we have lost as Black people through integration,” Mr. Dubois said, “in terms of giving up our own businesses.”
“Precisely,” Mr. Stepforth said. “However, the rich Black families that came from Lofton County – whose ancestors' labor made the whole county rich – are determined that we shall reclaim what should be all of ours. The Morton Consortium has purchased Lofton National Bank. Now, we wish to add and staff a hospital that will treat everyone in the county, but will be owned and run by people who will prevent the mistreatment of Black people in the medical system. The problem is, we are a few million short on the asking price.”
“So … you want me to pull that out of the markets?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don't know if you've looked up my total record, Mr. Stepforth … I mean, I can do it, but, I had a bunch of things like this go wrong, too.”
“You have the recommendation of Louisa Dubois Chennault, and of my friend Jean-Luc Dubois, your father, who stands with his word on the fact that while you have your wild past, you have become a man upon whose wisdom and judgment any other man of purpose may rely.”
Mr. Dubois nearly fell over.
“Dad said what?”
Mr. Stepforth repeated it, and then added, “I could have hired anyone I wanted, Mr. Dubois, but, not with your pedigree.”
Jules Dubois regained inches on his height and years to his life he hadn't known he had lost in his wild, selfish years in New York.
Superpowers properly activated, Mr. Stepforth thought, and said aloud, “Well, shall we begin? We need to get you set up on the trading account for this work.”
For three weeks, Mr. Dubois got up every weekday morning at 4:00am to walk over to Mr. Stepforth's home by 5:45am to start work in the pre-market on the computer that had been provided for him. Every day, Mr. Stepforth provided him industry reports to work with to assist him with some commentary on his own research, and every day, Mr. Dubois dug into all that was provided and then got to work until lunchtime.
Mr. Stepforth and Mr. Dubois had lunch on the back porch, and talked about their years in New York. The older man wanted to hear what had changed from the younger man, and the younger man was eager to share. This also opened the door for the older man to share about his missteps in life as a highly talented Black man making it in New York, and the steps in recovering what had been lost. Mr. Dubois soaked this up eagerly, day after day: it kept him motivated both for the work and for the rest of his life.
After work, Mr. Stepforth encouraged Mr. Dubois to unwind and transition by reading, and Mr. Dubois was fascinated to read his way through the vast compendium in Mr. Stepforth's library of not only Black history, but world history that included the kingdoms and empires and civilizations of Africa, and their true interaction with and influence on the entire world. Sometimes, it was well after dark before Mr. Dubois realized what time it was, and walked home.
Three days before the younger Dubois's contract ended, his 74-year-old father, Jean-Luc Dubois, walked over to bump elbows with Mr. Stepforth.
“Thank you for giving my son this chance to live as a man again, and not a failure,” he said. “I understand very little of what he does, and I know keeping a garden for his keep is not enough for him – but this is what he needs, to use his talents in the world for good, and to learn there is no shame in being what we are: Black men, full and free, like our ancestors throughout most of world history.”
“Monsieur Dubois, I will never forget the day you helped me be a man and not a failure, one fine day in New Orleans,” Mr. Stepforth said. “Now, your son is helping us all succeed, and it is my pleasure to just be the agent of that.”
Sure enough, at the end of the three weeks, the Morton Consortium had the money it needed to go to put together the deal for Lofton Dynast Hospital and to spare.
The consortium paid Mr. Dubois according to the contract, added a bonus on what he had generated above the required amount, and indicated there soon would be an offer to retain him permanently.
Jules Dubois got up the next morning, worked in his own trading account in the pre-market, rode up with his brother Jean-Paul to Big Loft, VA and to Lofton National Bank to deposit that big check, and while in town called and talked with his younger brother Renè about the needs of the family business, Dubois Spice Cabinet. The older brother sent half the check as an investment there, and then pooled money with his brother for purchases at Big Discounts for Your Loft for the family in Virginia before heading home.
And, of course he did right by his un-hired business partner.
“Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay! I have enough yellow, brown, and green glitter now to make my alexandrite model! Thank you, Uncle Jules!”
As niece Louisa jumped up into her uncle's arms and kissed his cheek, Jules Dubois grew still taller. Yes, he had greatly failed, but he was a man, walking upright again with his family.