In fact, this season had been so bad they had set up an emergency command center in Austin to service the Gulf Coast, and Dick’s inclination was, given the trajectory of the climate, they should make it permanent. If there was one thing Dick knew, storms like this one hurt his bottom line in the short run but were money in the bank long-term. His New Orleans stores were never more profitable as in the years immediately following Katrina. Already, gross receipts from their Texas locations after Harvey were higher than ever. So, this was bad now, but ultimately, it was a logistical hassle that they would push through. Indeed, at the stores that were fully operational, already long lines of people were seeking generators, solar-powered lights, batteries. They would build bigger and better. If the local market could sustain it, this could be an opportunity for Eikenborn Green Solutions. A massive opportunity. At least this was what Nick Selby had said.
Nick had been planning this retreat for a few weeks now, describing it as a “casual beachfront gathering of various parties with vested interest in the future and possibility of Puerto Rico.” It was first delayed by Irma and of course, with Maria as catastrophic as it was, no one imagined that it was still happening. Dick was certainly surprised when he got a text from Nick saying it was indeed still on. The house was great, the beach was not, but this gathering was more important now than ever. Also, Nick wondered, could Dick bring down some steaks from Peter Luger’s if he managed to get them to Teterboro before Dick went wheels up?
And so, after touring his eponymous stores, ten days after Maria made landfall, Dick Eikenborn’s helicopter landed on the lawn of Nick Selby’s Puerto Rican estate, with his weekend bag and a cooler full of porterhouses on dry ice. Trees were knocked down and the shrubbery bare, but he was startled by how much less affected this piece of paradise seemed from what he’d seen on the rest of the island.
“Dick!” Nick cried out over the chopper propellers, “I see we’ve got you and the steaks. Good man!” He slapped his back. A guy from the staff grabbed the cooler and the bag from Dick and they all made their way into the house.
Outside it had been humid and overcast, but inside it was cool and dry. The Rolling Stones played on the sound system. Dick marveled at how intact it all seemed.
“Shatter-resistant glass,” Nick offered, seeming to read Dick’s mind. “That and the solar grid. Best investments. Scotch? Rum?”
“Rum!” Dick said. He hadn’t been drinking much lately. Training for a tri. But he figured he’d take the weekend off.
“How’ve you been?” Nick asked. “I haven’t seen you since your spicy little girlfriend was organizing the busboys at the Blumenthal party.”
Dick didn’t mean to get a pouty look on his face, but it was reflexive.
“We broke up, actually.”
“It’s for the best, Richard.”
“Why do you say that?” Dick asked sincerely. Because he was very much wanting to get back together. He’d made a few overtures—had Charmaine send flowers to her office, sent a book of love poems—but received no response. He got the sense it was better to not press. She would come back in her own due time, Charmaine had assured him.
“Well,” Nick now offered, “let’s just say she doesn’t necessarily come from the best … stock.”
Dick rolled his eyes. “I’m very aware of who her brother is. I haven’t been able to put my TV on anywhere but Fox without seeing his face this past week.”
Nick laughed. “Dick, her brother’s a team player, I assure you. But, all will be revealed soon enough.”
* * *
A COUPLE OF hours and a few rums later, Dick found himself finishing up dinner with an intriguing lineup of, as Nick called them, “stakeholders in the New Puerto Rico.” There was an undersecretary of energy who asked to be called only by the name Manny; there were two members of the PROMESA board; an executive named Linda from one of the major airlines—which one was never established; a man named Pedro from PREPA, the failed power company; a woman named Carmen from the water company; and then the straight money people: Dieter, representing cryptocurrency miners; Dennis representing the financial interests buying up and getting repaid for the bonds on debt the government had sold them; a man named Kirk who said he represented a global Ayn Rand society, whatever that meant; and of course Nick’s older brother, Arthur.
“Okay, gentlemen and ladies,” Nick offered, “this is a time of gravity. But also, for us free-market enthusiasts, a time of great opportunity. I’ve asked you here this weekend because this island has long been a passion of mine, and I know Dieter’s as well. So, first, I want to make a toast to Act Twenty and, for me personally, for Act Twenty-two, which has made me a bona fide puertorrique?o! Who wouldn’t want to claim an identity that allows them to pay zero taxes on capital gains, interests, or dividends? Puerto Rico represents a chance to live the American dream as it was intended: the freedom to reach our full potential without having to support a welfare state. This island is an opportunity in microcosm, to live out an idea that we’d previously thought fantasy: a chance to create a stateless society where we can step out from the thumb of rule by statute and allow free markets and contracts to create social order.