The-Man-Who-Folded-Himself-David-Gerrold

the spending I’d been doing—ouch! I didn’t want to think about it. Of course, I hadn’t spent it all—I
hadn’t been trying. I started going over in my mind how much I might have left in cash and in my
checking account. Not that much, after all. Maybe a few hundred. And six thousand left in trust. No
hundred and forty-three million—
But Uncle Jim had said—
I stopped and thought about it. If I’d really been worth a hundred and forty-three million dollars, would
I have grown up the way I did? Brought up by a trained governess in Uncle Jim’s comfortable—but not
very big—San Fernando Valley home, sent to public schools and the State University? Uh-uh. Not
likely. If I’d been worth that big a pile, I’d have been fawned over, drooled over, and protected every
day of my life. I would have had nurses and private tutors and valets and chauffeurs. I would have had
butlers for my butlers. I would have had my own pony, my own yacht, my own set of full-size trains. I
would have had my pick of any college in the country. In the world. I would have been spoiled rotten.
I looked around my three-hundred-dollar-a-month apartment. There was no evidence here that I was
spoiled rotten.
Well . . . not to the tune of a hundred and fortythree million dollars.
You can get spoiled on five hundred a week, but that’s a far cry from butlers for your butlers. Ouch.
And ouch again.
I’d thought I’d never have to worry about money in my life. Now I was wondering if I would make it to
the end of the year.
“—of course,” Biggs-or-Briggs was mumbling, “if you still feel you want to check our books, by all
means—we don’t want there to be any misunderstandings or hard feelings—“ “Yeah . . .”I waved it
off. “I’ll call you. There’s no hurry. I believe you, I guess.” Maybe Uncle Jim hadn’t been thinking
straight that day. The more I thought about it, the odder his behavior seemed. Oh, Uncle Jim! How
could you have become so addled?
A hundred and forty-three million!
I wasn’t sure whom I felt sorriest for, him or me. The lawyer was still talking. “—Now, of course,
you’re not responsible for any of his financial liabilities, and they aren’t that much anyway. The
company will probably cover them—“ “Wasn’t there any insurance?” I blurted suddenly. “Eh? No,
I’m sorry. Your uncle didn’t believe in it. We tried to talk to him about it many times, but he never
paid any attention.”
I shrugged and let him go on. That was just like my Uncle Jim. Even he believed he was immortal.
“You’re entitled to his personal effects and—“ “No, I don’t want them.”
“—there is one item he specifically requested you to have.”
“What?”
“It’s a package. Nobody’s to open it but you.”
“Well, where is it?”
“It’s in the trunk of my car. If you’ll just sign this
receipt—“
* * *
I waited until after what’s-his-name had left. Whatever it was in the box, Uncle Jim had intended it for
me alone. I hefted it carefully. Perhaps this was the hundred and forty-three million—