Then, in the summer of ’98, everything changed. A company Desmond owned options in went public. He only held 13,400 options, but they were worth $21 at the IPO price—which meant all told, they were worth a quarter of a million dollars.

He checked the stock price about a thousand times the day it debuted, fearing the worst—a crash or some freak accident. But just the opposite happened: the stock soared. By the end of the first day of trading, his options were worth $38.23 each. $512,282. The sum was nearly unimaginable to him. A fortune. Freedom.

He raced to Wallace’s office. The attorney connected him with an investment bank that would help him unload the options, ensuring the profits were taxed at long-term capital gains rates.

“Are you sure you want to sell all of it, Desmond?”

“I’m sure.”

Desmond had come up with a rubric for deciding whether to keep or sell a stock: if he was willing to buy the stock at its current price, he would keep it. Otherwise, he would sell. He wanted the cash.

The transaction went through the next day, netting him just over four hundred thousand dollars after taxes and fees.

He again sat in Wallace’s office.

“I need you to draw up some other agreements. Personal contracts.”

He told the man exactly what he wanted.

“She’ll have to sign them, Desmond.”

“I know. It won’t be a problem.”

“You’re a brilliant young man, but I think you’ve got a lot to learn about women.”

Desmond’s will was the easiest part. In classic Orville Hughes fashion, it read:

To Peyton Adelaide Shaw, I leave everything.

The other forms were a series of assignment agreements that gave Peyton ownership of half of all the options and securities he owned.

That night they celebrated the IPO with a dinner out. After dessert, Desmond showed her the will, which, to his surprise, sort of freaked her out.

“I just want you to be taken care of,” he said. “What if I fell over dead? Got hit by a car?”

“Don’t say that, Desmond.”

“It’s true. You’re all I’ve got, Peyton. You’re the only person in my life I’m really close to.”

“Really close to? Is that how you’d describe us?” She chugged the rest of her wine.

This conversation hadn’t gone the way he’d planned. He had thought she’d be relieved.

At her apartment, he showed her the assignment agreements that gave her half of all his stock and options.

“It’s what’s fair,” he said. “You saved me, Peyton—when I wanted to put it all in xTV. You introduced me to the first people I bought options from. You’ve been the only constant in my life since I’ve been in California. You practically supported me after xTV, kept me from starving. You’ve been my partner in this whole thing, and you should have half.”