3
Except for two paintings—both of big-eyed waifs—the living room of Brady's personal quarters was as spare as his office. One painting was a little boy holding a wilted flower, and the other a skinny little kid in rags.
"Keane kids?" Jack said.
Brady nodded with vigorous enthusiasm. "Yes. They're originals."
Jack had always found them kitschy, and those big sad eyes monoto-nously repetitious. But he supposed some of the old originals might be valuable to someone.
"I know they're not considered real art, but something about them appeals to me. I think they remind me of all the sadness in the world, all caused by fractured xeltons. I look at them and they keep me going, reminding me of the Church's mission."
Jack sighed. "I know exactly/What you mean."
They finally settled down for the Reveille Session—sans mouse. Brady sat on a straight-backed, cushionless chair. Jack leaned forward on the comfy sofa. A coffee table of glossy blond wood sat between them.
"What in your life do you feel guiltiest about?"
Jack had an answer ready but he leaned back and pretended to think about it. After an appropriate pause…
"I suppose it would be having so much more than others."
"'So much more'?"
"Yes. You don't know this, but I'm rather wealthy."
Brady's expression remained bland, barely interested. "Yes, I believe you mentioned something yesterday about having money. But we have many wealthy members."
"Yes, but I'm quite wealthy."
"You are?" Brady scratched his temple, as if this was all news to him, and uninteresting news at that.
"Filthy rich, you might say."
"You don't strike me as the 'filthy rich' type. And do I detect a note of dissatisfaction with having a lot of money?"
Jack shrugged. "Perhaps. Not that it's dirty money or anything like that. It's clean as can be, honestly earned. It's just that… well, I didn't earn it."
"Oh? And who did?"
"My father. And not that I don't get along with him, I do. It's just, well… 'from him to whom much is given, much will be expected'… if you know what I mean."
Brady smiled and nodded. "Ah, he quotes scripture. Luke 12:48, if I remember correctly."
If so, it was news to Jack. He'd remembered hearing the phrase, or something like it, now and again, and it seemed an apropos cliche. Had to admit, though, he was impressed that Brady could quote book, chapter, and verse.
Jack clasped his hands before him. "I know that a lot will be required of me when I take over the family business, and I want to be up to it. But I'm not interested in simply amassing more wealth. I mean, I'll never spend what I already have. So I'd like to find a way to put the wealth that will be flowing my way to better use than investing in stocks and bonds. I want to invest in people."
He wondered if he might be laying it on too thick, but Brady seemed to be lapping it up.
"Well then, Jason, you've come to the right place. International Dormen-talism is always reaching out to needy people in the poorest Third World countries. We go in, buy a parcel of land, then establish a temple and a school. The school teaches the Dormentalist way, but more importantly, it also teaches the locals self-sufficiency. 'Give a man a fish and you've fed him for a day; teach a man to fish, and you've fed him for a lifetime.' That's our philosophy."
Jack widened his eyes. "What a wonderful concept!"
One good cliche deserves another, he thought, and suppressed a smile as he remembered Abe's variation: Teach a man to fish and you can sell him rods and reels and hooks and sinkers.
"Yes. That is the Dormentalist way. You can rest assured that any contributions you wish to make to the Church will go directly toward helping the less fortunate."
"That sounds like a fine idea. You know, I don't think I'll wait till I take my father's place. I'd like to start right now. As soon as we're through here I'm going to contact my accountant."
Brady's smile was beatific. "How kind of you."