When he finally told his dad, he expected that Dom would hit the roof. That he’d disinherit him, or punch him, or finally send him to live with his grandparents—his mother’s parents, in their dingy and brooding home upstate—like he’d been threatening to do for years. But his father surprised him. He’d been quiet and resigned. He said all the things a father should about disappointment and consequences, but it didn’t seem like his heart was in it. It was as if, after years of trying to keep all of the plates spinning, the fact they’d come crashing down was more of a relief than a surprise. At least he didn’t have to keep fighting gravity.

Dom was too distracted, both by the problems of the mortgage crisis and by the opportunities it was creating, to concentrate on problems of Hunter’s that he couldn’t fix. The next morning the family packed up for the Hamptons. Lindsay had found a big house right on the beach, its former tenants presumably another casualty of the market crash, and the Finch family left New Falls, and their problems, temporarily behind.

The town car pulled up in front of the refinery building and Dom and Hunter stepped out. Dom shielded his eyes and looked up at the facade.

“This one will be different,” he said. “Lofts. Just like Soho in the eighties, but with better amenities. I thought about tearing it down. There’s enough room here for another tower. But then I thought about what you said, Hunter. That what people like about Brooklyn is the cool factor. The old warehouses. The bohemian feel.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve never said the word bohemian in my life,” Hunter interrupted. “I said people like the warehouse parties. Raves.”

“Right,” his father agreed good-naturedly. “Well, you would know parties,” he added with an uncharacteristic wink, surprising Hunter with his ability to joke about it. It actually seemed like his father was enjoying this. “These lofts will give the whole project authenticity,” Dom went on. “We’ll use some elements from this building in the high rises—exposed beams and brick, poured-cement floors. It’ll tie the whole thing together. Plus the city is going to love that we’re preserving the refinery facade.”

“It sounds great,” Hunter said, perfunctorily. He just didn’t get the same thrill out of real estate that his father seemed to get.

“I’m glad you think so,” his dad said, ignoring his tone. “Because you’re going to help me put it all together.”