Chapter 109 — Adult Socializing
Ethan had dinner plans today with Bobby Axelrod.
Two grown men.
No business agenda.
Purely social.
He couldn't even remember the last time that had happened.
Maybe… elementary school?
Back then, adults would gather a group of kids together, then go off to drink tea, play cards, or chat—leaving the children to "entertain themselves."
That was probably the closest equivalent.
Ethan's feelings toward Bobby had always been… complicated.
Not quite liking him.
Not quite disliking him either.
It felt more like facing something that clearly existed in reality—
But didn't belong to the same world.
People like Bobby—titans of finance—
And someone like Ethan, who still thought of himself as just a small-time doctor,
They weren't even running on the same track.
To those people, money might just be a number.
And anyone who said, "I'm not interested in money"—
No matter how wise they were—
Ethan simply couldn't bring himself to like them.
Especially after the past couple of days.
One girl struggling to afford insulin.
Another barely scraping by as a waitress.
For them—
Money wasn't abstract.
It was oxygen.
Ethan even started thinking—
Maybe the clinic really should raise its prices.
That way, when it came to "taking from the rich to help the poor,"
he'd have more room to maneuver.
After all, the clinic had been running for a few months now.
Maybe it was finally time to… start charging the regulars a little more.
---
Bobby had chosen a pizza place near Brooklyn Bridge.
Technically still in Brooklyn—just like Ethan's clinic—
But not exactly close.
A thirty-minute drive.
Not the kind of place you "just drop by."
The shop looked old.
From the outside, it felt like one of those places that had been around for decades—maybe even a century.
No fancy décor.
No curated atmosphere.
It existed for one thing only—
Taste.
And maybe for the kind of regulars who understood it.
In a way, it reminded Ethan of those tiny, no-name eateries in old Beijing—
The kind that didn't care about appearances, only about the food.
---
They met.
Shook hands.
Sat down.
Bobby didn't even glance at the menu.
He ordered directly from the owner—an older man named Bruno—then turned to Ethan.
"I've been coming here since I was a kid," Bobby said casually.
"After school, I'd come here every day. Sometimes I wouldn't pay for weeks—and the owner just let it slide."
He spoke naturally, like he was recalling something that had nothing to do with who he was now.
"I ordered a few things I think you'll like. If not, we can get something else."
No asking.
Just deciding.
Ethan nodded.
They started with light conversation.
Basic exchanges. Backgrounds.
Bobby came from a blue-collar family. Studied finance.
After the September 11 attacks, he made a rapid, almost impossible leap in the financial world.
Ethan, on the other hand—
Had taken a completely different path.
He had always wanted to be a doctor.
Went to medical school.
Opened a clinic.
Two lives.
Two worlds.
Now, sitting across from each other at the same table.
Their life paths had almost no points of intersection.
The conversation wasn't awkward—but there was always a faint distance between them.
They started from childhood, where they did share some common ground—
odd jobs, growing up overlooked, learning early how to fend for themselves.
Bobby mentioned his teenage years—
picking up golf balls at a course, working as a caddie just to afford tuition.
Even that job, eventually, didn't last.
Gradually, they both realized:
After college, their lives had split into completely different worlds.
The pizza arrived.
They each took a few bites.
The atmosphere wasn't uncomfortable—
but it was no longer as smooth as before.
Bobby set his slice down, took a napkin, and slowly wiped his hands. No rush. No pressure.
"My wife once said," he began, "that this is the only place where I make this kind of expression."
"I told her—it's because the pizza here is just that good."
Ethan took a bite.
"It is good."
Better than takeout, definitely—
though he couldn't quite explain why.
Bobby smiled.
"My friends say that's exactly why we grew up here."
Ethan smiled back, but didn't reply.
Bobby studied him for a second.
Then asked, plainly:
"Do you… not like me?"
No probing. No humor.
Just direct.
Ethan froze for a moment.
Then shook his head.
"It's not that I don't like you," he said seriously.
"It's just… I feel like we come from two different worlds."
"I get that," Bobby nodded.
"Most people think that."
"The difference is—
they usually don't say it to my face."
He didn't argue.
Didn't justify himself.
Instead, he leaned back slightly, his tone relaxing.
"Then let's try something else."
Ethan looked up.
Bobby's voice turned unusually candid.
"You can ask me anything. Anything at all."
"About money. About me. About what I've done."
"Or about why you think we belong to different worlds."
He paused, then added:
"I won't get angry. I won't push back. I'll just answer honestly."
After saying that, he didn't press.
Didn't stare.
He simply picked up another slice and took a bite—
As if to say:
The choice is yours.
Ethan watched him for a few seconds.
That kind of openness… made his own hesitation feel petty.
He thought for a moment, then spoke:
"Alright, Mr. Axe—"
Bobby cut in.
"Just call me Bobby. I'll call you Ethan. Fair?"
Ethan nodded.
Then asked the question that had been on his mind:
"Bobby… how much are you actually worth?"
No surprise.
No deflection.
Bobby just shrugged.
"About twice what's reported publicly."
Twice?
"So… twenty billion dollars?"
Bobby nodded.
"Not exact, but close enough.
The real number changes constantly, so even I don't track it precisely."
"Okay…"
Ethan nodded, then asked:
"What does it feel like—to be rich?"
Bobby thought for a moment, then spread his hands.
"Honestly? Not as dramatic as people imagine."
"The difference is simple—
If I want something, I buy it.
If I want to live somewhere, I live there.
If I want to eat something, I eat it whenever I want."
"The things I don't want to do—I delegate.
The people I don't want to see—I don't see."
"If money can solve a problem—
then it's no longer a problem."
He gestured lightly toward the pizza place.
"For example—this place."
"The landlord wanted to raise the rent and lease it to a chain sandwich shop."
"I made a few calls."
"The chain moved into a nearby mall instead."
"And I signed a 20-year lease for this place. Covered the extra cost myself."
He paused.
"So now—whenever I feel like eating the pizza I grew up with…
I can."
"More freedom. More comfort?" Ethan asked.
"Yes," Bobby nodded.
"Then… do you still have worries?"
"Yes," he answered immediately.
"Just a different kind."
"You start to realize—there's almost no one around you that you can truly trust."
"Everyone who gets close to you wants something."
"Either they want to take something from you—
or they want you to do something for them."
"The only people I can truly relax around…
are the ones I grew up with."
"With them—
I'm not 'Bobby Axelrod from Wall Street.'"
Ethan nodded slowly.
"I see."
Bobby looked at him again, his tone softer now.
"But now… there's you."
"You don't want anything from me."
"So—
maybe we could be friends."
Ethan smiled faintly.
"Maybe."
Bobby continued:
"Here's the thing—once in a while, I get together with my real friends."
"Next time, you should come."
"No planning needed. Just show up."
"We'll take my private jet, go somewhere for a few days, then come back."
"Totally legal. Totally safe. No complications."
Ethan paused.
"…That actually sounds pretty good."
"Maybe I'll try it."
Bobby nodded.
"Then it's settled. Next time—we go together."
"Won't be long."
"Okay."