A hundred million. Once upon a time, a million bucks was a lot of money. But the bar had been raised a long way since then, especially in the last two decades. For the truly successful, Gorham reckoned, for a man like Peter, in the new global economy, a hundred million was only entry-level rich. How many people in New York had a hundred million dollars these days? A lot, certainly. Rich with a capital R, these days, was a billion.

“What’s the matter?” asked Maggie, when they’d gone another block.

“My life has been a total failure.”

“Thank you so much. That’s really nice to hear. Your wife and children count for nothing, I suppose.”

“I don’t mean that.”

“Yes you do. We’re your life, you know.”

“Of course you are. But he and I did our MBAs together. Professionally he did it right, and I didn’t.”

“That’s garbage. You did something different, that’s all. Tell me something: when would you say you’re most happy?”

“When I’m with you and the children, I guess.”

“I’m really pleased to hear that. Did you notice that Peter told us he’d lost a son? And you really think he’s more fortunate than you?”

“No, just more successful professionally.”

“Be grateful for what you have, Gorham.” They went on in silence for another minute. He could tell Maggie was really angry.

“Juan Campos was at Columbia with you too,” she suddenly said. “Are you trying to tell me Juan is some kind of failure? Because I don’t happen to think he is.”

Juan Campos had had a bad time for a number of years, when El Barrio and every other poor area of the city had fallen into ever greater neglect. But he’d come through it and was making a big success as an administrator in the community college system now. Gorham had a feeling that Juan’s career might be developing into greater things.

“Okay,” Gorham said. “You’ve made your point.”

That weekend, they stayed in the city. Saturday was a bright, clear day. They went down to the South Street Seaport, and Gorham amazed his children by telling them that their ancestors had actually been merchants with counting houses down there. Then they all went to a movie together. On Sunday, Maggie made brunch, and they had friends round, and that evening he helped the kids with their homework. He felt better after that, and for several weeks he kept himself busy with his work and the children, and with Maggie of course, and he’d supposed that he was back to being his usual self, when he overheard Maggie having a telephone conversation with a friend.

“I just don’t know what to do with him,” she said. “It’s really difficult.” Then, when she saw him come into the room, she’d quickly ended the call.

“What was that about?” he asked.