my head, I had had the perfect holiday constructed. Now none of it was coming to pass.
I ran a hand through my hair as I prepared for my TechBiz Evening Business Report TV appearance.
There had been rumors circulating about my big development deal. The host was surely going to ask for information. I needed to come up with some answers about why it had fallen through. Honestly, though, I didn’t care about the real estate deal. I didn’t care that I was on the TechBiz show to talk about my unusual and creative path to being a young billionaire. I just wanted Morticia. I missed her.
I forced myself to relax and be charming as the TV host introduced me.
“And with us today is our newest billionaire wunderkind, Jonathan Frost, who has become a billionaire not through cryptocurrency or a social media app but through something very analogue, a physical product—probably one of the oldest in human history: alcohol.”
The host smiled up at me as I offered a perfunctory air kiss to her cheek.
“Can you tell us a little bit about your vision for the Hillrock West Distillery?” the host asked me, annoyingly chipper.
“Well,” I said, trying to act as if I was paying attention and engaged, “I had started my hedge fund, and we didn’t want to invest in the standard tech and energy stocks. We wanted to differentiate ourselves. There was a need to distribute craft liquor nationally, and we jumped in to fill it. And our results speak for themselves.”
“They sure do!” the host said. “And so do your Instagram ads. Wowza!”
A picture of me with very little clothing on popped up on the screen behind us.
“I’m sure all the other hedge funds that aren’t headed by an investor with model good looks wish they had you as their secret weapon!” the host said with a giggle.
“The credit goes to the marketing team,” I said, inwardly wincing. I remembered when Morticia had taken that picture.
“Because it’s Christmas,” the host continued, “we’re doing a fun segment for the holidays. We asked viewers to submit questions for you once we announced your scheduled appearance on the show.”
Here we go. What was I going to say about the Hamilton Yards development?
“The number-one question that came up over and over again,” she said, “was ‘How can I turn my kid into a billionaire?’ Now, we know you can’t really answer that effectively, so we have some special guests to help you out. Dr. and Dr. Frost, welcome!”
I tried to keep my fake professional smile on as my parents strutted out.
“Dr. David Frost and Dr. Diane Frost,” the host gushed, “thank you for joining us. We know you all are very busy. But please tell us how you managed to raise such a successful son.”
My mother had her hostess smile on, the one that would fool guests at her Christmas parties into believing she was mother of the year and that we were all one big, happy family. “We raised our kids with a good work ethic and to be very independent and goal driven. And,” she added with a fake laugh, “it doesn’t hurt to have a great role model in my husband, Dr. Frost.”
“That’s right,” my father boasted. “We receive a number of comments from friends and acquaintances about all our sons, but lately, they all want to know about Jonathan. It seems that he’s really found a niche that other people who aren’t creative thinkers have overlooked.”
I couldn’t believe it! This was what I had always wanted—my parents praising me and telling the world how proud they were of me. But it felt hollow. A part of me knew they didn’t actually mean it and were just playing a part for their own gain.
“And you’re okay with his participation in The Great Christmas Bake-Off?” the TV show host asked. “Romance Creative was recently sold to your daughter Belle’s investment firm. We just received the numbers, and The Great Christmas Bake-Off was the highest-ranking show for weeks this month, so congrats on that.”
My father worked his jaw then said, “I’m sure it’s all in good fun.”
“Do you expect Keeley to be your future daughter-in-law?”
“No!” A woman wearing a red Mrs. Claus outfit sprinted into the production studio, security guards and production assistants chasing her.
“I will not be silenced!” Sarah declared as she turned around and sprayed whipped cream in one of the guard’s faces. “Jonathan will not be marrying Keeley!” Sarah declared, holding a tablet aloft. “Keeley has been cheating on