TEOTWAWKI

Nestor Grimes sat alone in the gutted warehouse in the dark with his head in his hands. He had been without sleep for seventy-two hours. As the CEO of Nestortech Industries, Inc., he had to remain at the helm throughout the disaster until every detail had been worked out to completion. He had been a good steward, and now his job was over.

No one saw the debacle coming. The day before the market crash, orders were flowing into his business so fast that Nestor did not know whether he could fill them all as promised. He was thinking of doubling his staff and taking out new lines of credit from his bank. Price rises were on the horizon, and his latest predictions to his stockholders were going to be surpassed by an order of magnitude.

Then, starting in the Asian markets, the crash came in a rapid series of waves. When the US markets opened three days before, the carnage was apparent, but its scope was not. Frequently during the decades-long rise in valuations, a temporary pullback was considered good as a buying opportunity. Nestor, like his suppliers and customers, bought his company’s stock as it plummeted, not only to stabilize its price but to participate in the next run-up.

Conversely, the new pattern established in the market was merciless against buyers of “the dips,” as every time the stocks seemed poised to test a bottom, prices spiked down further in ways only seen during the horrendous crash of 1929. Now, as then, no stock was immune to the selling frenzy. Brokers were unable to execute trades because there were no buyers. Short sellers were piling on, gleefully tanking the market as it fell.

The Big Money Boys hoped for a rally at the close of the market that day. Instead, they saw share prices spike downward, well into uncharted territory. For millions of sell orders, there were simply no buyers. All through that night around the world, stock traders looked for signs of improvements overseas. The signals were clear: the US markets would open limit down—and continue knifing down all day.

At noon on the second day, the effects of the crash were felt in canceled orders for Nestortech’s entire product line. Every order that had not yet been shipped was canceled. Some orders already shipped were canceled too. Returns were being processed at an alarming rate. The same sales staff who were taxed to fill orders were now taxed to handle cancellations and returns.

Nestor saw the proverbial handwriting on the wall. So did his bankers and backers. All his loans were called for immediate payment—in cash, within forty-eight hours. Some loans and credit lines had only just been established, but they were ruthlessly terminated. Nestor had always known that one-day Mr. Murphy could visit his concern. Mr. Murphy had now arrived at the worst possible time.

At the close of business on that second day of the crash, Nestor called his vice presidents to the boardroom and told them what to do. Pink slips were to go out the next morning to all employees. The CEO wanted letters of resignation from his executives by midnight. He ordered all accounting actions and electronic payments to be accomplished by close of business the next day. Of course, the informal lines of communication in the industry buzzed all night. Nestor refused to take calls. He had given his final directives. There would be no second-guessing.

As the third wave of selling hit the markets the next morning, Nestor’s bank sent its representatives to seize everything in the Nestortech offices, regardless if it was goods for sale, administrative equipment, or general computers and peripherals. Nestor was told by two officious men in spiffy gray suits to vacate his office forthwith or face arrest. He quickly put what he needed in a box they gave him. Armed guards led him to the door and closed it after he left.

Staff, having been laid off that morning, wandered as if numb through the chaos of the company’s sudden collapse. Some stole company equipment but were apprehended by men in black clothing who guarded the entrances and exits. Nestortech’s employees had been paid after Nestor’s realization about processing all payments via electronic means overnight. The bank representatives, therefore, discovered the firm’s accounts were dry. In frustration, they seized the petty cash, amounting to fifty thousand dollars and change, but every other penny had disappeared.

As for Nestortech’s stock value, by two o’clock p.m., the value of Nestortech shares was down to twenty-five cents. It had been soaring at two hundred fifty dollars a share three days ago at market close. The Chairman of the Board informed Nestor that his resignation as CEO would not be necessary because he was fired. To fend off the company’s clamoring creditors, the Chairman declared the company insolvent and filed for bankruptcy.

So Nestortech, the paragon NetWare company, was ruined before the closing bell on that third day. It no longer had employees, inventory, accounts, stock value, or bonds. It was set to become another sad footnote in the annals of corporate failures.

That night, Nestor sneaked back into the building and walked through the spaces where computers had been ripped out of networks and wires hung from the ceiling. Fiber optic cables snaked up through the raised flooring and sprawled in useless knotted masses.

Nestor also wandered through the acres of warehouses that were full to the rafters three days ago but now lay empty. A few stray paper records spilled here and there on the cement floor, but they were meaningless now.

When Nestor Grimes called his wife, Peggy, to tell her the bad news, she told him she was filing for divorce. She told him not to call her or the children directly and demanded that he speak only to her lawyer.

Nestor tallied his current net worth at $250K, but checking his personal bank account balance, he noticed it was zero. And his credit cards were maxed out to boot.

Angry at his wife for her faithlessness and greed, he drove by his McMansion and saw the police tape closing off the U-shaped entry. A moving van was parked outside the front door, its open bay receiving his heirloom Steinway piano. Burly uniformed moving men were bringing out treasures he had amassed over a lifetime, like his kudu head, his samurai sword, and his genuine, silver-age Roman statue of Caracalla.

He swung his Jaguar around viciously and drove back to his company’s giant warehouse complex. Yellow police tape ran across the doors, but he knew a back way that led underground into the building. That’s how he ended up holding his head in his hands in the dark. Apocalypse had come, and not just for him and his company. It had come for all the high-tech industries across the country and around the world. Technology had hit an invisible, immobile barrier. Things would never be the same.

Nestor took stock of his situation. He reasoned that any of his assets that were visible online anywhere were already gone to his greedy creditors or his trophy wife. He knew his car would be seized soon too. He wondered why the classic sports car had not been seized already.

As he ruminated in the dark, he saw a flashlight and heard steps that converged on his position.

A gruff, but familiar voice called out, “Mr. Grimes? I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’m supposed to clear this building of everyone, with no exceptions.”

It was Sam, the company’s night watchman, standing with one hand on the butt of his pistol and the other holding the flashlight.

“Hello, Sam. I’ll leave soon. What do you think about all that’s happened?”

“Today’s an especially sad day for everyone. No one has jumped out of a tall building yet, but people are still trying to understand what happened. My wife and I invested every dollar we had in the company. Our Nestortech stock was our retirement nest egg. It’s all gone now.”

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

“That’s easy for you to say, sir.”

Nestor realized Sam could not understand his position. How could his employees know how little the bosses really owned? They had read about bonuses that dwarfed ordinary salaries, as well as incentives and perks. He had a thought.

“Did you receive your severance pay?” Nestor asked Sam.

“Yes. Thanks for asking. It should tide me over until I find a new position. Watchmen are needed everywhere—or at least they were until this week. I’m not on the Nestortech payroll this evening. The HR manager of Goldbrick Bank hired me as a temp. Anyway, I’ve got to escort you out of the building. Are you ready to go?” There was a threatening edge in his tone.

Nestor straightened up and rose slowly from his chair. Sam led him to the emergency exit and stood while he walked through to the street.

He said, “Goodnight, then, Mr. Grimes. And good luck to all of us.”

Nestor nodded. Sam closed the door and locked it from the inside.

Nestor walked around to the rear of the building to his car and drove away. At first, he didn’t know where he was driving. Then, an idea formed, and he realized it was his terminal plan.

When he incorporated Nestortech and took the company public, he promised himself that he would have safeguards so he could survive in case everything went wrong. Tonight, Nestor knew, everything had gone wrong. It was time to execute his emergency plan, which he had titled, “TEOTWAWKI,” not an Indian word, but the fanciful acronym formed from the first letters of the phrase, “The End Of The World As We Know It.”

He drove to the rear of his estate and parked by the hedge. He saw his way clear to the enclosed herbarium at the back of his property. It wasn’t surrounded by yellow police tape yet. Inside, he found the trapdoor on the floor near the back. He pulled the trapdoor open by its ring. Reaching down into the opening below the trap, he groped in the dark to find the heavy metal box still in place after two decades of careful maintenance and updating.

Nestor carried the box to his car and drove to a nearby motel, carefully parking his car so that it was not visible from the street. He booked a room for three nights under the name P. E. Allan and paid in cash retrieved from the stash in the box.

The box contained the same items he had placed inside it twenty years ago and refreshed on it every two years. The cash in small bills and Traveler’s Cheques amounted to thirty thousand dollars. Twenty gold Krugerrands and twenty American double eagles should be good anywhere in the world. Most important was his little black book of special contacts in Japan, where he had studied computers and networks and learned the Japanese language. Also in the box, under the name of P. E. Allan, were active credit cards, a driver’s license and a US Passport last renewed eighteen months ago. To match his facial features to the pictures in the license and passport were a pair of steel-rimmed glasses and a shaving kit.

Nestor had rehearsed his disappearance imaginatively a dozen times. He never really believed he would have to use his plan. Since he was exhausted and disoriented, he fell back on his latest version of his escape. He picked up the black book and dialed two numbers.

The first number he dialed was that of an old war buddy from Afghanistan. He asked for a meeting in one hour. His friend did not hesitate to agree to the meeting. How could he refuse?

The second number he dialed was that of a woman he met and lived with while he was a student in Tokyo. She answered on the first ring and seemed ecstatic to hear from him. She said she had room to accommodate him anytime. He told her he would arrive within three days. She laughed when he said he might not be leaving once he arrived.

He met his old friend, the former soldier, at a Dunkin’ Donuts and explained that he would be leaving the States for a while.

“Nestor, is there anything I can do?”

“In fact, there is one thing you can do. I need someone to care for my ride, permanently. I brought the title, which I’ll sign over to you tonight. I’ll leave the car at Logan International and call you later so you’ll know where to find it.” Nestor filled out the back of the car’s title, giving his friend the auto free and clear.

“Can I ask where you’re going?”

“I’m afraid not, my friend.”

“So, this is goodbye.”

“Yes. I knew you’d understand.” The men shook hands and embraced. Then Nestor walked out with the rest of his coffee and drove back to the motel.”

Under the name P. E. Allan, Nestor made air reservations to Tokyo. The next morning, he drove to the office of a service that would arrange for a visa through the Consulate General of Japan in Boston. Though there was no fee for a visa for an American, he paid the service for expediting one, but could not pick up his passport with the visa stamp until the next morning.

Back at the motel, he read the financial news, which featured the demise of Nestortech, Inc., the bankruptcy filing and the disappearance of Dr. Nestor Grimes, the company’s former CEO. The reporters had done a good job from Nestor’s perspective. All the company’s employees had been given a severance upon their terminations so the bankruptcy receivers could not encumber their unpaid wages. Additionally, the company, as an entrepôt, was a waypoint for the conveyance of equipment from OEMs to end-users. That meant that all the company’s transactions were clean and final, with no financing structures.

Nestortech had passed cancellations right through to the vendors who provided their equipment. This was bad for the vendors but good for Nestortech. Shit rolled downhill, Nestor thought, and he was satisfied that he had done his best to end with even accounts. All his buildings and business equipment had been leased. So Nestortech might as well have been a shell corporation. As for stockholder value, it was always virtually zero on a liquidation basis. The value-added aspects of its transactions were in the convenience of having a third-party pass-through handle what advertisers claimed as “whatever was necessary to run a Twenty-First Century business on a turnkey basis.”

Satisfied that he had done the best possible things for his employees and his stockholders, Nestor had a good night’s sleep. He picked up his passport with the fresh Japanese visa in the morning at the service and continued to Logan where he parked his car. As he walked to the check-in counter, he called his war buddy to impart the location of the car. Entering the departure area, he felt as if he had shed his Nestor Grimes identity entirely. What did he care if his wife could not find him?

So, P. E. Allan flew from Boston Logan Terminal E to Tokyo on Japan Airlines as he had planned. Service aboard the airplane was, as always, impeccable. When he landed at Narita International in Tokyo, he contacted his former lover, Miao. They took a taxi to her apartment where Allan was reacquainted with Miao’s aged mother, who shared her dwelling.

***

Miao was one of a growing number of single women who lived with their parents in their maturity. Early in life, she decided to be a singer and pianist in nightclubs. She supplemented her mother’s pension with money that arrived in envelopes of cash from a mysterious man called “the daimyo.” Since Allan brought additional money with him, both the mother and daughter liked their living arrangement. Allan thought he had arranged the perfect hideout since he was a permanent guest of a respectable Japanese family.

“I read about your company in the financial papers. You made a lot of money.” Miao ate rice with chopsticks and smiled.

“Miao, you shouldn’t believe everything you read in the newspapers.” He did not want her to get big ideas about his being wealthy since he was decidedly not wealthy anymore.

She laughed as she drank her tea. Under her breath, she muttered a few words to her mother, who covered her mouth as well.

Allan was impressed with the contrast between his quiet life in the apartment and the continuing hustle and bustle in the middle of Tokyo. He was not addicted to his expensive tastes, though he had enjoyed plenty of money. For a while, he was happy being invisible.

He should have known the idyllic life could not last.

One morning Miao said, “Allansan, I have some friends I want you to meet.”

He wanted to be sociable, so he agreed to go to dinner to meet Miao’s friends.

They ate at an expensive tea house located on a property above the Sea of Japan. It was a formal occasion with a tea ceremony and all the trimmings. Miao’s two male friends were very well connected. In fact, they were Yakusa, Japanese gangsters. He noticed that one man had tattoos running to the edge of his wrists and neck. He was also missing the final digit on his left finger.

Miao translated their conversation for Allan, but the gist concerned ways to make money in the business of computers and NetWare. Allan had no objection to talking about what he knew best. He answered the two gentlemen’s questions and watched them pick up the bill for the meal.

Miao seemed pleased with the results of this meeting. She didn’t mention it again for four weeks until, at dinner, she stated that the two men wanted a second meeting with their daimyo or boss.

Miao’s mother and her daughter had words about this plan, but Miao was insistent, and the mother finally agreed to let her go.

“My mother is of the old school. They did not believe in mixing with gangsters. For them, it was a loss of face.”

“And for you?”

“The Yakusa pays me to sing and play the piano in their clubs. If we don’t humor them, I’ll be terminated or worse. They’re always reminding me that I could still become a geisha. They know we were lovers once. And the man called ‘the daimyo’ was once my mother’s lover. Who knows? I might be the big boss’s love child.”

At this point, Allan did not see anything dangerous in having a meal with three men in a public place in Kyoto, so they dressed for the occasion in Japanese style and were driven to dinner in a stretch limo.

The daimyo sat at the head of the table where they ate. Allan sat at his right, and Miao sat at his left. The two Yakusa soldiers stood behind their master to either side like museum statues of Japanese warriors, only without their traditional armor.

After their tea, the daimyo said, “Allansan, please tell me about the computer business. Be expansive, please. I like details.”

Allan spent two hours expounding on how he had started Nestortech with little money and gradually built a six-hundred million-dollar-a-year business. The daimyo nodded appreciatively when he had finished.

“You will do this again. For me. I will give you everything you need for success.”

Allan thought about this offer for a moment. He said, “You present a generous offer. What must I do in return for this privilege?”

The daimyo said, “You are not Japanese. You are gaijin. I’m taking a great risk offering you this deal. I am bringing you into my family. Understand that once you are part of my family, you remain my family for life.”

Allan looked at Miao, who looked away. She stood and busied herself making another round of tea, which she served traditionally. This time, at the daimyo’s invitation, the two Yakusa soldiers joined them at the table.

The daimyo said, “Allansan, you will make your decision today.”

“Daimyo, I have made my decision already. I accept your offer.”

“Good! Tomorrow morning, you will begin work for me.”

“How will we communicate?”

“If you need anything, tell these two gentlemen.” He pointed at the two soldiers.

“Do you have any other questions?”

“May I use Miao as my personal assistant?”

“Yes. I give her to you.” He chuckled and winked. “Anything else?”

“No.” Allan stood when the daimyo stood and bowed as he bowed, careful to bow a little deeper than his new boss.

The next morning Allan, Miao, and the two soldiers surveyed offices for lease in downtown Tokyo. They selected an office in a high-rise complex overlooking the bay. Papers were signed by the soldiers, and the build-out of the leased space was discussed at length. The next order of business was leasing the warehouse.

By the end of the day, Allan’s new company had a headquarters and working space, a receptionist for the office, an accountant to set up the books, a warehouse manager, and all the accoutrements of a going concern. Including an elegant logo, an enterprise website, a computer network and infrastructure for plug-and-play employee stations.

On the second day, Allan acquired a sales manager and staff, a lead engineer, an installation team, and a human relations director. With Miao and the two soldiers, Allan drew up a list of the kinds of NetWare equipment his new company would service. Naturally, he was starting ahead of the technology curve of Nestortech, Inc. In fact, he leapfrogged his old technology by two generations. He offered cutting-edge capabilities that would make leasing companies lead the pack in their niche specialties.

By the end of the third day, Allan and his lead engineer had mapped out a strategy for approaching the keiretsu or Japanese trading conglomerates, one by one. They jointly hired a marketing director and developed a marketing plan to complement Allan’s separately-developed business plan.

The daimyo hosted a dinner at a restaurant overlooking the bay for Allan, Miao, and the key employees who had been thus far engaged. Over Kobe beef and sake, the daimyo waxed eloquent about the technical future of Japan. Allan did not have to say a word, but his placement on the dais next to the daimyo indicated he was the de facto lead manager for the daimyo. This gave him face, and Miao gained face as his consort.

Two more weeks were spent setting the business on solid footing before Allan told the marketing director to execute his plan. The idea of going to the keiretsu first was well received by the Japanese businessmen. During discussions, the leaders of the groups suggested that Allan meet the three directors of KBK, the Emperor’s own trading company. He did this as a courtesy, and after meeting KBK, all the doors opened at once.

Allan’s warehouse filled with equipment. His test benches became a rolling production line and a prelude to delivery, training, and continual support. As Japanese businesses expected round-the-clock service, Allan ramped up his service staff and made it clear that the service lead reported directly to him.

As Allan’s equipment replaced the embedded suites in each keiretsu, his company became the subject of rumors among traditional vendors. The Japanese press wanted interviews, but Allan avoided that by hiring a public affairs chief, who became his spokesman. This gave him tremendous face as a hidden hand behind a well-funded, well-connected company.

The huge number of orders brought bankers and investment houses to Allan’s door looking to book loans and to do an Initial Public Offering, or IPO, on the Nikkei exchange. Allan refused their offers until they went around him to the daimyo to press their case. At that point, Allan realized that the daimyo’s charade of secrecy was an open joke among the Japanese.

The daimyo played the game brilliantly, Allan observed, as the man shifted the financial loads from his own coffers to the big Japanese financial institutions—at a significant profit to himself. Seeing the handwriting on the wall again, Allan decided to make provisions for an escape from Japan as he had escaped from America. He brought Miao into his plan. She demanded marriage in return for her complicity and silence. When her mother passed away, the daimyo funded her lavish funeral, complete with flowers for an empress. Shortly after this, Miao and Allan were married at the daimyo’s expense as well. The daimyo stood as Miao’s sponsor at the ceremony since her parents were both dead.

Allan, by now, was looking more Japanese than American. He golfed like a Japanese businessman, playing sixty business days each year. He had built a business that could run itself, after all, so he thought he was expendable. Miao explained that in Japan, he had only reached his expected status. If he had to get involved in the day-to-day operations of business in America to gain face and trust, in Japan doing so would mean a significant loss of face.

Allan acquiesced to his wife’s wishes. She evolved as the perfect match for a tycoon, which he was fast becoming. He and Miao moved into a luxurious apartment in Tokyo and talked about medical miracles like having children in advanced age.

Miao underwent treatments and conceived twins. This naturally brought great face and hounding by the press who were looking for an example of a single person getting married and having children to raise the hope of reversing the lamentable fertility statistics of the state.

Allan and Miao’s twins were featured on the front pages of magazines. Miao’s story read like a modern fairy tale. Meanwhile, Allan’s success in business garnered both praise and jealousy. He began to hear rumors of Yakusa being behind his company. Those rumors spread in the press. This was not good for business, even though everyone already knew the rumors were true.

At breakfast, Miao told him, “Allansan, the daimyo has asked for another meeting. This time, I fear he is displeased about the rumors.”

“Miao, the rumors are true. My company is a front for the Yakusa. Everyone already knows.”

“Allansan, in Japan, everything depends on face. So, we must think how to preserve face going forward. This is what the daimyo will discuss with you at your meeting.”

***

The daimyo and Allan had formal tea together in a hillside tea house with a tori gate on a summit through which they could view the sky. Spring flowers were in bloom, particularly the famous cherry blossoms.

“Allansan, your efforts have exceeded all expectations. You have, in five years, built a ten-billion-Yen business that will grow to at least a trillion in another five years. Also, you and Miao have produced two fine twins, which have become a media sensation.”

“Yet, Daimyo, I have caused you to lose face. For this, I am truly sorry.”

The two men contemplated the tori gate while they sipped tea.

“Sometimes, Allansan, you must ignore the public and do what is right,” the daimyo said.

Realizing their real discussion had begun, Allan riposted, “Yet, intelligent men can find an elegant solution, as with bonsai. Sometimes elegance can be encouraged. Sometimes it has to be forced.”

The daimyo burped appreciatively. He opened his kimono and scratched his ample belly. “An open kimono feels more comfortable in times like these, Allansan.”

Allan burped and opened his kimono. He imitated the daimyo in scratching his stomach.

“The soldier with the tattoos lost an index on his little finger. How did that happen?”

The daimyo said, “Ibo cut the digit off with his own knife after binding his finger below it. He gained great face by doing so. His tattoos were created by a master who is a Japanese master craftsman, a national asset.”

Allan said, “I have, once, created a business empire and disappeared. You know this is true. Do you think it best that I repeat my action—for face?”

The daimyo wrinkled his brow and sipped his tea. He grunted and scowled. “You would simply walk away? Vanish without a trace?”

“I’ve done this before, only the last time my business was taken from me by fate.”

“And if your business were not taken from you?” The old man smiled ironically.

Allan thought about this for a long time. “The business never was mine. It was always yours. I merely provided ideas and a persona at the center of it.”

“And Miao?”

“She is a national sensation, an example to single women of a certain age. That has little to do with me.”

“Do I hear the sound of one hand clapping?”

The Zen koan reference was not wasted on Allan, who rejoined, “What is the sound of the wind I cannot hear?”

The daimyo shook his head. “You are a gaijin, but you’ve become Japanese. To lose you will pain me greatly, perhaps more than it will pain your wife, my daughter.”

“You cannot lose what you never had. I cannot lose a company I never had.”

“What do you need from me?”

Allan said, “I require protection of Miao and the twins for the rest of their lives. This protection would be natural for the woman’s father. I also require that no attempt be made to find and kill me. Finally, I’d like to manage a gentle transition of the leadership of the company to someone you trust.”

“How deftly you play against your own position, my son.”

“I hope I play justly into an advantage for both our positions.”

The daimyo stood and pulled his kimono around his bulk and tied the sash.

Allan did the same.

“Before we part, Allansan, will you tell me what the ‘P. and E.’ stand for in your name?”

Allan smiled and said, “Poe and Edgar, Daimyo. I thought you’d guessed that.”

The daimyo smiled. “Always, there’s a great distance between guessing and knowing. Sayonara, Allansan!” he bowed low.

“Sayonara, Daimyo.” Allan bowed lower than his host.

That evening, over dinner with Miao, Allan was silent and brooded. Miao guessed that his discussion with the daimyo had reached a decision.

“Will you talk about the decision you and the daimyo made today?”

“No. You’ll know it through my actions. No matter what happens, you and the twins will be all right under the daimyo’s patronage.”

She began to weep. As tears coursed down her cheeks, she tried to dab them with her napkin. The twins became upset to see their mother cry.

Allan said, “There’s nothing to be gained by weeping. Consider what you’ve got. Tomorrow, I begin to train my replacement at the company.”

“Where you’re going, is there a way the twins and I can go with you?”

“No. I must go alone, or you’ll all lose everything.”

“I’m afraid Allansan.”

“Be strong. For our sons. For our memories.”

***

The next morning, a man appeared at Allan’s office. He bowed low and introduced himself as the daimyo’s nephew. Allan spent the day outlining how he would transfer all knowledge and power to the nephew over the space of the next three weeks. He admonished the nephew against divulging the purpose of this—to cover his own disappearance. The nephew said he understood the need for secrecy.

In fact, the turnover took two weeks, not three. On the evening of the fourteenth day, Allan disappeared. He left a letter explaining his decision to step down as head of the company and his wishes that the daimyo’s nephew be accepted and acknowledged as the new head.

On his dining room table, he left his wife a delicate watercolor of a plum branch with blossoms. She wept when she found it and had it hung above the mantle next to his picture and the picture of herself with the twins at the Emperor’s palace.

Where Allan went next is a matter of conjecture. Some thought he was killed by the two soldiers of the daimyo. Others thought he had taken his own life in an act of seppuku. Miao suspected he had gone home to America. Though he had never confessed to being homesick, he was a gaijin after all.

The daimyo kept his word and protected Miao and the twins until he died. After that, his nephew continued the tradition of patronage, married Miao and formally adopted her twins.

Years later, Miao’s sons asked her where their biological father went when he disappeared. She wept and confessed that she had no idea where he went.

She said, “He came to this island for the second time in his life after losing a great business, due to no fault of his own. He left this island for the second time after creating an even greater business, which he gave over to the daimyo’s nephew, your stepfather, in a bargain I’ll never fathom. The legacy of our survival is sufficient for my understanding. I sense him watching over us wherever he is today. Do him honor, always. You never know whether one day, he’ll just reappear. He once told me that your future lay in the watercolor he left on our table the day he vanished.”

The boys examined the painting carefully and saw where the artist’s indicia was supposed to be a red artist’s chop with the Roman letters TEOTWAWKI inside it. When they asked their mother what that word meant, she answered, “I’ve absolutely no idea. Perhaps it’s the name of the painter?”