One point five million dollars.

“We can work with that,” I said, pleased.

“It has its peculiarities. Thirty-five grants—for up to thirty-five thousand dollars each—announced in St. Louis at Cortez Headquarters on the thirteenth of June.”

“Why St. Louis? Why the thirteenth of June?”

“Underfer doesn’t fly and it’s his daughter ’s thirty-fifth birthday.”

“Okay, it’s a little cheesy, but it’s a start.”

Bruno wasn’t fooling himself. “At some point,” he told me, “we resign ourselves to the fact that while we may not irrevocably alter the world, we will have at least tried.”

He asked why I was smiling.

“Irrevocably alter,” I said. “Two of Tim’s favorite words.”

Suddenly, we had purpose. Contacts needed to be made. Site visits planned. Bruno wanted my dream list of who would be ideal as our first grant recipients. I told him he’d have a list ASAP.

So much to do, so little time was my thinking when Claudia called, wanting to meet later for a drink.

I didn’t go straight home that night. I met Claudia at Sample on Smith Street. She had promised interesting news.

“Jill the nanny. You know the one I’m talking about?”

I didn’t know Jill. “I’m happily out of the loop, Claudia.”

“Jill, the whitest, spunkiest, most impressive nanny ever in the history of nannies. Anna Brody’s Jill. Rumored-to-be-receiving-a-six-figure-salary Jill. The same Jill who had been once, most notably, the live-in nanny to billionaire Ronald Perelman’s daughter Caleigh and also the nanny to the children of a very famous Hollywood couple with Scientologist affiliations. Jill whom Dan the Bear described as ‘the Julie Andrews of nannies.’ ”

“Okay, Claudia,” I said, stirring my drink. “I get the picture.”

“Well, guess who had these miniature high-tech video cameras installed all through her eighteen-room house?”

“Anna Brody.”

“Yes. Isn’t that terrible?”

“Videotaping the nanny? Not if you have reason to believe there’s something wrong going on.”

Claudia told me what the videotape had revealed. Jill was bright, attentive, creative at free play, that Sophie especially loved Jill’s story about the swans. Apparently, Jill was firm when necessary but never cruel, never raised her voice, never shamed, often sang beautifully to Sophie, and was teaching her how to count in French.

“So what’s the problem?”

“Anna fired her.”

“On what grounds?”

“No one knows. But my theory? Maybe she felt a wee bit threatened. You see, if Jill were to stick around, Sophie would never be happy with Anna.”

“That’s awful.”

“Not for Jill. She got her whole year’s salary for just two weeks of babysitting. Not bad work, if you can get it.”

I didn’t know what parts of this story to believe. I wasn’t about to call Anna and ask her myself. The very next day, however, and new to her role as a nannyless mother, Anna Brody called me instead. I was surprised she knew where to reach me. Then I remembered having given her my work number, probably with the thought that she’d never call.

“Is this a good time?” Anna asked.