I poured another helping of Rice Krispies into my bowl, making sure the ratio of cereal to remaining milk was perfect. I had managed to set up some daylight hour meetings, which meant my night would be less packed than seemed to be the pattern recently. All I wanted to do was sleep. With November right around the corner and December mere weeks away, business was booming. Every club I handled was planning ahead to ensure their holiday celebrations were merry and gay, and I was tired. At twenty-three, I should have been looking forward to participating in the fun, but it didn’t appeal to me. Instead of partying, I would continue to move through my life, fearing the moment it would end while wondering why it hadn’t yet. It wasn’t that I wanted to die; it was more that I didn’t see a purpose in living. I was just, kind of … there. Maybe everybody felt the same way and I didn’t converse with enough people, or dig deep enough in my existing relationships, to know.

“Did you hear what they said?” Igor questioned. “They’re estimating investors have already traded ten million shares and the day isn’t close to over. The market could lose more money in ninety-six hours than we spent on the entirety of the war.”

“How much is that?” Maks asked as he chomped on his bacon. He ate like he lived, in an irritatingly loud manner.

“I don’t know, around ten billion, maybe more,” my brother answered, shaking his head at the figure. He ran his fingers through his dirty blond hair and closed his eyes.

“Oh, close to what Vik’s going to make in Towertown next month,” Maks joked with a cheeky grin. “My man’s out there grabbing clams from every marjorie’s hand.”

I smiled. Maks may have been annoying, but he was funny, especially when he said shit like that.

“And what’s going to happen when Vik’s marjories lose their jobs and can’t afford to buy Canadian Club cocktails every night? Hmm?” Igor pressed. “What then?”

“Leave my marjories alone,” I smirked, placing my lips on the ceramic to slurp down the rest of my cereal before discarding my bowl in the sink.

As I crossed the kitchen and headed back to my bedroom, I heard Igor call, “Are you going to wash it or leave it sitting there for our maid to take care of?” A boisterous laugh from Maks told me that he found Igor much cleverer than I did. Either way, providing my brother with the opportunity to burn off an iota of his nervous energy by cleaning up after me was merciful in my eyes, and since my view was all I had to go by, I felt rather saintly. Despite Igor’s worries, it seemed today would be a good one. After all, I wasn’t always so charitable.

3

December 1929