“Karma,” puts in Danny wisely.

“Of course, Corey doesn’t legally owe Brent anything,” Luke continues. “But he would never leave an old friend to starve on the streets.” Luke slaps Corey on the back. “Would you, Corey, old chap?”

“Of course he wouldn’t!” says Cyndi, seeming shocked at the idea. “Corey’s always looking out for others, aren’t you, babe?”

“And a settlement of this modest size…” Luke gives Corey a significant look. “You’ll barely notice it.”

Luke and the lawyers have pitched the settlement at just the right amount. Enough to make a huge, life-changing difference to Brent, but not so much that Corey will feel any hardship. In fact, as Luke says, he’ll barely notice it.

(I was all for trying to get squillions out of Corey, but Luke said no, we need to be pragmatic, and I suppose he’s right.)

Corey’s eyes are sparking with fury. His nostrils are white round the edges. He’s opened his mouth and closed it again quite a few times during this conversation—but no words have made it out yet. And I can see his problem. He’s kind of in a trap, what with Cyndi gazing lovingly at him.

“Sweetheart, we should have this Brent over for dinner,” says Cyndi earnestly. “You never even mentioned him before.”

“Dinner?” Corey’s voice sounds strangled.

“In fact, you guys should all come to dinner!” Cyndi looks around, her eyes sparkling. “Let’s do it tonight. We’ll set up the grill by the pool, play some music….”

“I don’t think—” Corey begins.

“Please, Corey!” She cuts him off. “We never have anyone over!” She looks around, counting up people. “You guys got kids? Bring ’em along! Is there anyone else we should ask?”

But no one answers, because the door behind her has opened—and in walks Dad. He stops a few paces in and surveys Corey with a wry expression in his kind eyes. And I want to freeze-frame this moment. Finally, finally, after all these years, Dad and Corey are face-to-face.

As I watch them, all I can think of is that old photo of them. Four young guys on their road trip, not knowing where life would lead them.

Corey may be the richest. But my dad wins in every way, I think fiercely. Every way.

“Corey,” he says simply. “Good to see you again.”

“Who are you?” asks Cyndi in bewilderment.

“Oh, I’m with the lawyers,” answers Dad, giving her a charming smile. “I just wanted to say to Corey: I’m so glad you’ve decided not to abandon your old friend.”

I’m studying Corey in fascination, to see if any flicker of remorse passes across his face. Or regret? Sorrow? Shame? Anything? But his face is impassive. Which could be because of his facelift, I suppose.

“So,” says Dad pleasantly. “Shall we get this document signed?”

He smiles at Corey and gestures to the door. But Corey doesn’t move.

“Corey?” prompts Dad again. “It’ll take five minutes of your time. No more.”

Still, Corey is motionless. But I can see his brain working. His eyes are busy. He’s thinking…he’s thinking….