It was around three o’clock in the afternoon while lying in bed, munching on Doritos purchased from the hotel shop, that I received another phone call from Emily.

“Hey,” I answered. “So you survived?”

“Yes,” she replied, sounding far more cheerful than I would have expected. “Things are fine.”

“Even with old Dave, the CEO?”

“Yes,” she exclaimed happily. “Especially with Dave.”

My mind raced as I searched for any way such a thing could be possible. I was pretty much down to ‘a glitch in the matrix’ when Emily spoke again.

“I have to begrudgingly congratulate you, Terrence,” she said earnestly. Absent was the measure of condescension with which she usually addressed me.

“The magical combination of a fifty million dollar giveaway, your strange word salad, your general appearance, and the words ‘dial-up internet’ made your speech go viral on Instagram. Dave couldn’t be more pleased. Grensfeld has never had so many visitors or likes on the company channel, and those are KPIs for them. He’s looking at a big bonus payment.”

“But I think you might be slightly more clever than you put on. Dial-up Internet access is a trending topic, pretty much everywhere. Seventy-three percent of younger Internet users didn’t know about dial-up Internet access, at least before seeing your speech.”

“I’m aware,” I boasted. “You are probably getting that figure from a study I funded.”

“Well, you drew more attention to your cause this morning than even fifty million dollars would have made possible. Well done.”

“Great. Have I earned my release? Ready to drop this conservatorship yet?”

“Perhaps I will pencil in a two-minute introductory lesson at the beginning of each of our calls to review the fact that I cannot release you, only the court can. What do you think, Terrence? Should I pencil that in for the next hundred calls? I don’t know what your learning rate is yet. Early test results are not promising.”

I steamed. That one hurt. She had built me up with all of the praise, and I had let my guard down.

“We’ve got to take care of your housing situation. I won’t let you move back into that awful camper of yours, and I won’t let you blow all of your money on an expensive hotel.”

I heard the shuffling of papers over the connection.

“On that note, Terrence, did you purchase a forty-pound bag of Doritos a while ago?”

“What?” I asked, startled by the strange question. “I bought a small, single-serving bag of chips, that’s all.”

“I see. I guess I thought it must have been an enormous bag given that you spent thirty-nine dollars on it,” she spoke patronizingly. “It is unacceptable to pay that much for a…”

F this. I hung up.

The phone started ringing, but I ignored it. I gathered my few personal effects, locked up the room, thought better of it, came back in, grabbed the free suit, and locked up the room again.

I would not have this vile Emily creature micromanaging my existence. I stormed to the elevator, pressed the down button, and waited.

The door opened, and an enormous figure wearing cargo shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, and sunglasses was already inside. He looked like an NFL offensive lineman just returning from vacation. Seeing me, he stepped back to allow me in. But he was staring at me.

Feeling the sort of ‘indescribable uneasiness’ I hear people relate in Bigfoot encounter stories, when they hear branches snap in the deep woods, I stepped on the elevator, and turned to face the door, as etiquette dictates.

From behind me, a voice spoke.

It could only have been the ‘squatch. We were alone.

“And where will we be going today?”

I turned to look.

“Excuse me? What do you mean ‘we?’”

Via the tone of my communication, I aimed to strike a balance between sounding irritated on the one hand and not sounding punch-worthy on the other in the ears of this imposing specimen.

“I’m Jim,” he said, holding out a giant hand. “I’m your bodyguard. Emily hired me to watch out for you.”

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I shook his hand, masquerading as someone not about to mentally break down.

“Are you going to answer that?” Jim asked, pointing to my phone, which had not stopped ringing since I had hung up on Emily.

At that moment, the elevator doors opened to the lobby. Kindly relieving me of the garment bag that I was carrying, Jim pointed to a chair near the front desk, and said, “I’ll wait over there.”

Utterly defeated, I answered the phone.

Not missing a beat, Emily was on me immediately, as if nothing had happened.

“To avoid more outrageous purchases like the overpriced Doritos, we need to get you out of that hotel and into a rental property. I think we’ll aim for a six-month lease.”

“Did you hire a prison guard to watch over me?” I inquired accusingly, ignoring her for a change.

“Jim? Yes.”

The matter-of-fact way she acknowledged my incarceration horrified me. It was positively chilling. This was how democracies died.

“He isn’t a prison guard, Terrence,” Emily went on. “He is a bodyguard. Your parents are very wealthy people, and even if you find that fact unimportant, many unsavory characters around the world do not. I’m sorry, but you should not ever have been living alone in an isolated place like you were. I’m surprised that you haven’t been kidnapped already.”

“Fascinating! So you’re blind to the fact that you are my kidnapper?”

“There is a big difference between me and a kidnapper. I’m not getting paid anything close to the sort of ransom payment someone could shake your parents down for, Terrence. In fact, given what a pain in the ass you are to deal with, I almost feel like I’m doing this work pro bono.”

I saw an angle!

“I’ll give you half,” I blurted out. “Let me go, and you can have half the money.”

Emily laughed.

“And then I would be living in a camper instead of you, forever on the run from fraud charges. No. As your conservator, and as a sane person, I must turn down your offer. You do not have permission to give me the money.”

“I just texted Jim a list of properties I want you to look at tomorrow. I will have a car out front at nine.”

“In the morning?” I cried out, unable to conceal my horror.

She sighed.

“O.k. I’ll reschedule the first appointment. Your car will be out there at ten o’clock instead. Please be prompt, o.k.? No more of this half-hour late stuff. Don’t make me hire someone to wake you every morning with a bucket of ice water.”

“You can’t do that,” I protested (not at all sure that she couldn’t.)

“Try me,” she threatened, before hanging up.

I stared into the distance, envisioning my very bleak future.

And so the following bleak day, I climbed into the back of a bleak limousine with all three hundred pounds of Jim and headed off to look at houses.

We drove well out of the city and were nearing the first property I had been ordered to view when the driver cut through an adorable neighborhood of little cottages to avoid some traffic congestion. I found it lovely.

When a particularly charming place up ahead had an open house sign out front, I shouted, “Stop the car!”

Springing out of the limousine, despite Jim’s torrent of complaints, I wandered up to the front door of the house, threw it open, and walked right in. Jim entered right behind me.

Inside were a few graying couples and a forty-something-year-old listing agent with a glued-on smile. I walked straight up to her and asked if I might ‘please have one of the informational pamphlets’ about the property.

The agent scanned me up and down. She seemed far from impressed.

“This house is seven thousand plus square feet. Is this truly something you can…want?”

“If what you mean to ask is ‘can I afford it’ then the answer is yes. I can most definitely afford it. Lady, I won fifty million dollars yesterday. Look me up. I’m viral on Instagram.”

The agent’s eyes widened, and her expression softened in an instant. The mention of money — especially that much money — was all it took. She became all sweetness and light.

“You did?” she inquired supportively. “Why, that’s just wonderful!”

“He can’t spend any of that money, you know,” Jim suddenly chimed in.

Deciding he needed to explain, he added, “Conservatorship.”

I saw the agent deflate before my eyes. Years were added to her appearance in moments. So much money had disappeared so quickly. It was difficult for her to process.

I glared at Jim.

I didn’t want to have to do it, but I pulled out the big guns. I searched my cellphone for an article about my parents and handed it to the agent.

Confused, she began to read, then looked up at me.

“Those are my parents,” I explained.

As if having quaffed the elixir of eternal youth, years lifted from the agent’s appearance once again, as she gave me a big smile.

“I didn’t know!”

“Yeah, I don’t like to mention it, you know? People can act funny.”

“I completely understand,” she empathized. “Now I can see that this house is quite suitable….”

“His parents don’t talk to him,” Jim informed the woman.

“They won’t give him a dime.”

Not helpful.

I sighed. The system was rigged against me.

The agent just nodded her head in acknowledgment, unable to handle any more wild emotional swings. She handed me the informational pamphlet I had asked for.

“I’ll leave you two to look around,” she said, sounding utterly defeated, before heading off in the direction of the house’s wine cellar.

An hour later, I was standing outside, on the house’s elegant veranda, shouting into my cell phone at Emily.

“Mutual assured destruction! I’m telling you, either you approve the purchase of this place or I’m going to TMZ to tell them Grensfeld Industries has taken me prisoner. Given who my parents are, I can guarantee you at least five minutes of solid Grensfeld bashing on TMZ per night, for several weeks. Maybe the New York Post will even pick up the story. That would be fun, wouldn’t it? My folks would be thrilled with you. Now either give me back my trailer or let me buy this place.”

Negotiations continued. Calls were placed. I had to wait while an appraiser was rushed out to the property by Emily. But in the end, she relented.

“A certain amount of real estate will be a good fit in your financial portfolio,” she finally acquiesced. “I will call and make the offer. Please allow me to do my job, and let me ensure that you get the most favorable possible deal, o.k.?”

“O.k.,” I replied happily. “Thank you, Emily.”

She hung up.

Whatever.

Inside, I saw the real estate agent making a furtive reentry to the foyer where she had originally spoken to us. I burst through the doors and cheerily called out, “I’ll take it! I’m buying this house.”

Confused, she looked at Jim. He nodded yes.

And once again, the agent grew young.