"That was good business, Mom!" I said, puffing up my chest like the Wolf of Wall Street met a Barbie commercial.
"That was concerning behavior from an eight-year-old!"
Charlotte snatched the phone like she was saving me from a public execution. "Mrs. Carter? This is Charlotte. I want you to know Peter's been incredible. He's the reason I'm not currently sobbing into a Dom Pérignon puddle."
"Charlotte?" Mom softened instantly, the warmth of a Hallmark special seeping through. "Oh honey, I'm so sorry. Those bastards at Rivera — excuse my language — are crucifying you! Are you okay?" Traitor, you did not ask how I am and you're showering Charlotte with affcetion. Not fair mom.
"I'm managing, thanks to your son," Charlotte said, eyes giving me the 'you better not screw this up' look. "He's got it all planned."
"He's got a plan?" Mom sounded part concern, part resigned terror. "Peter, whatever scheme you're cooking up, it better be legal."
