Rich People Problems-Kwan 2017 (WWT)

Rachel was about to go after him when Alix placed a hand on her arm. “He’ll be fine,” she
said to Rachel.
“I know he will,” Rachel said softly.
···
I just put four billion dollars into his pocket and that fucker didn’t even thank me, Oliver
thought after Nick had abruptly hung up. Then he picked up his phone again and called
Kitty’s cell phone.
“Kitty? It’s done. The Youngs have accepted the offer…Yes, really…No, no, you can’t
move in next week, it’s going to take a few months at the very least to get the deal done…
Yes, they will sell some of the furnishings…Of course I will tell you what’s worth
acquiring, don’t worry…I don’t think we can pay them more to move out tomorrow. This
has been a home to the family for more than a century, Kitty. They need some time to get
things sorted and dismantle the estate. The silver lining is that you’ll have time to plan
the new interiors…Henrietta Spencer-Churchill? Yes, I do know her, but Kitty, why would
you want the same designer who’s already doing Colette’s new house?…I know she’s
related to Princess Diana, but I have an even better idea…I can think of only one person
in the whole world I would trust with a redo of Tyersall Park. Can you meet me in Europe
next week?…No, not Paris. We’re going to Antwerp, Kitty…No, it’s not in Austria. Antwerp
is a city in Belgium…Oh, you’ll swing by London to pick me up? How awfully kind of
you…Perfect. Look forward to it.”
Oliver hung up the phone and stared into his computer screen for a few minutes. Then
he clicked on iTunes and scrolled through his albums until he found a song. He clicked
play, and Puccini’s “Nessun Dorma” came blasting on. *2 Oliver sat in his chair and
listened to the first few verses of the aria. As it reached the crescendo, Oliver suddenly
leapt out of his chair and started dancing madly around his flat. It was a wild, Dionysian
release, and then he collapsed on the floor and started sobbing.
He was safe. Safe at last. With the commission earned on the sale of Tyersall Park, the
long nightmare of the past two decades was finally over. His 1.5 percent commission on
the Tyersall Park sale would garner $150 million, enough to pay off all his student loans
and his parents’ crushing debts. They wouldn’t be rich, but at least they would have
enough to survive. His family could be restored to a proper level of respectability again.
He would never, ever have to fly economy again. As Oliver lay on the carpet of his London
flat, staring up at the cracked plasterwork on the ceiling that had needed fixing ten years
ago, he cried out in joy, “All’alba vincerò! Vincerò, vinceròòòòòòò!”
*1 Cantonese for “so long-winded.”
*2 The Pavarotti version, of course.