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“And what about when there isn’t?”
He gestured to his corner unit, which contained various built-in cupboards and nooks along with a small shelf of books. “I read. Or go for walk. Or find something to do. Or I just…enjoy being here.”
“So you disowned your friends along with your parents?” I blamed the potato. It had made me soft and round and stupid. Like itself.
“I don’t think I had any friends.” He offered the words without any particular emotion. “I had people around me. But they didn’t want anything to do with me after prison. And I realised I was okay with that.”
I was silent for a long moment. Then longer moments. It wasn’t wholly uncomfortable. Or rather, Leo seemed at ease, but I could feel questions gathering inside me like nausea. “What happened?”I asked when I couldn’t bear it any longer. “I mean, with… What did you—”
“Do?” His eyes met mine, cool and unflinching.
“Yes.”
“Insider trading.”
I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting, but that was oddly anticlimactic. “Oh.”
“I know,” he said.
“I guess”—comfort did not lie within my interests or my skill set—“you didn’t…hurt anyone?”
“Not directly. But it’s still…” He glanced away. “It’s still ugly as fuck. And so was I.”
“You must have had a reason, though?” Why was I pressing him? And was I doing it for him or for me? “Did you need the money or—”
He cut me off with a harsh-sounding laugh. “I didn’t need the money. My dad is Lionel Dance.”26
It was a name I’d heard before, but I couldn’t quite place when or where. Then I remembered—he was one of my college’s more feted alumni. Because he would be. “The…the hedge fund guy?” I tried.
“Yes,” said Leo patiently, “the hedge fund guy whose hedge fund is worth billions and whose personal worth is in the multimillions.”
“So you were trying to impress him and you…you…”
“Broke the law?”
“Mm.”
He sighed. “I wish it was that simple.”
He was quiet again, looking smaller than I’d ever seen him.Younger too. Less like somebody who knew how to retrofit a boat, bake a potato, and take care of a sprained ankle. And more like somebody who didn’t have a fucking clue what they were doing. It was sort of what I’d been pushing for. But as it turned out, it didn’t make me feel better after all.
“Mostly,” he went on, “I think I just didn’t care. About anything. I’d never had to. Does that make sense?”
I wasn’t sure it did. My parents had the same approach to caring as Mum had to jam on toast: better too much than too little. God, I needed to be a better son. “Maybe?”
“I was an obnoxious rich kid who thought the whole world existed for me to take from it.”
“Living the dream.”
He didn’t smile. “I look back and I hate myself.”
“Leo,” I said helplessly.
“And the shit I was doing when I worked for Dad, everyone was doing it. Everyone who wanted to get ahead at DCM anyway—sorry, Dance Capital Management. My dad’s company.”
“Then maybeheshould have gone to prison.”
“He nearly did.” Leo’s eyes flicked to mine. “It wasn’t me under investigation. When I say I worked for my dad, I meanbarely. I spent most of my time getting high and getting laid. I was just too fucking arrogant to do anything honestly. But”—he spread his hands ruefully—“someone was going down and I was the boss’s son. Maybe Ididwant to impress him.”
