by Robin Roseau
"Website design companies are also a dime a dozen."
"And I can incorporate that design with a variety of social media platforms such as Facebook, Twitter, and SnapChat, to name a few. I can show them how to produce new content on a steady basis to give people a reason to link to and share their content. I can help them produce amusing videos to post to YouTube. They won't be advertising or training videos, but instead simple videos to help get their name out. I can't promise any particular video will go viral, but some percentage will." I trailed off, realizing I was getting ahead of myself.
"It appears you have thought about this," Grandmother Cadence said. "Have you done more than think about it?"
"I don't really have a business plan," I said. "I have a very good idea of the types of services I would offer. I have ideas for my own marketing. I have a rough idea of a business plan, but it's simple."
"Describe this plan."
"I would bootstrap," I said. "Before you even wonder, I don't want any money from anyone, but I covet your wisdom."
At that, she inclined her head, but Mrs. Grafton snorted. "She's a flatterer, Cadence."
"She simply understands my value to her," my grandmother replied. "Continue, Blythe."
"I'd start out solo. For now, my personal expenses are small, with health insurance my biggest expense. But Mom and Dad are already talking about selling the house, so I'll need to find my own place to live."
"You have one other option."
"I want to stand on my own two feet," I replied.
"But you will keep that option on the back burner?"
I nodded. "Yes. Thank you. So, my business expenses would be minimal. I don't need to buy a thing. I have a computer and a good video camera. I would have expenses, but I think I can keep them low, very low. I know how much I'm spending each month now. I've been tracking my expenses for a year, and I've got them about as low as I can without resorting to a diet entirely consisting of Ramen noodles. From that I can calculate how much I need to bring in monthly to break even. But I have questions."
"What sort of questions?"
"I don't have an MBA." I turned to Mrs. Grafton. "Does that lead to startup failure reasons one and two?"
"It doesn't have to," she said immediately. "Especially if you are as readily willing to listen to your grandmother as you appear to be. To be clear, you intend no outside investors and intend to bootstrap this through your own hard work, supplemented by your savings and possibly inexpensive living choices."
"I don't want a dime from anyone except what I earn."
"What other questions?" my grandmother asked.
"I know how much I need to bring in to cover my needs. What I don't know is if I can actually bring in that much."
At that, both of them smiled, but it was Mrs. Grafton that spoke for both of them. "You won't know if you don't try, will you?"
They took turns asking me a wide variety of questions. I didn't have answers for everything they asked, but I thought I acquitted myself well. In the end, I turned back to Mrs. Grafton. "I appreciate the job you were considering for me, but I'm not ready to give up on this plan."
"Tell me. Do you have a name for your firm?"
"It's not written in stone."
"Perhaps it appears in some of your computer files."
"I was thinking... This is a risky name."
"Life is risk."
"I was thinking of calling myself Guerrilla Girl."
"Mignon Fogarty has done well with a similar name," Mrs. Grafton replied.
"You know about Grammar Girl." And she nodded.
"Well, I am sorry to disappoint you. This wasn't an interview for a permanent position."
"Oh god," I said. "I just thought-"
She put her hand on my arm. "You weren't that wrong." Then she reached into her purse -- it was more like a messenger bag than a simple purse -- and withdrew a blue manila folder. She slid it across the table to me.
"As you weren't currently employed," Grandmother Cadence said, "I suggested to Melanie that you may be available for a little project of hers."
I collected the folder from her and, with a nod from her, opened it. It didn't take long to see what she wanted. She had a significant fundraising event in several months, and she wanted help bolstering awareness.
"I'm sorry," I said in a small voice. "I jumped to a conclusion. I've just wasted the last twenty minutes of your time. I'm so sorry."
"I didn't feel my time was wasted," Mrs. Grafton replied. "I believe I just spent twenty minutes helping to counsel a young woman as she considers making one of the biggest decisions of her life. Did you find my presence during this conversation valuable?"
"Yes," I said firmly. "Although I don't know if Grandmother Cadence would have asked the same questions you did if you hadn't asked first."
"Some," my grandmother replied. "But not all."
"Then could I ask one more question?"
"Of course."
"Do the two of you think I should do this?"
"Do you want to do it?" Grandmother Cadence asked.
"Yes."
"Do you want to do this so much you will devote the vast majority of your life to ensure your success?" Mrs. Grafton asked.
I turned to her and nodded. "Yes," I said firmly.
"Will you put your personal reputation on the line for each and every client?" Grandmother Cadence asked.
"Yes," I said, even more firmly.
"Are you willing to resort to a life of Ramen noodles, if that's what you must do during the early periods?"
"Yes."
"Are you going to turn to your grandmother for financial assistance when things are difficult?" Mrs. Grafton asked.
I looked between the two of them. I couldn't read either of their expressions. "No."
"Why not?" Grandmother Cadence asked immediately.
"Because that's too easy. If I know that's an option, then I won't be hungry."
"Will you turn to your grandmother when you require advice?" Mrs. Grafton then asked.
"Always."
"Well then," she said.
"It seems like you already have your answer," Grandmother Cadence finished. "Guerrilla Girl."
"Well then," Mrs. Grafton said. "You won't need this." She tried to take her folder from me.
"Of course I'm going to need this."
"You have a startup to focus on, and our budget might cover a mailing, but it certainly isn't going to pay for your time."
I turned to my grandmother. "If you tell me to give this back to her, I will. Otherwise I'm going to do what you've always taught me."
"Oh?" she raised an eyebrow.
"Yes. I am going to exercise my sense of social responsibility."
"And you will balance the needs of your new business around my needs as represented by this folder?" Mrs. Grafton asked.
"Of course."
"Is that a promise, Granddaughter?"
"Of course it is. I stand behind my work."
"Well then," said Mrs. Grafton. "You'll need this as well." She withdrew a second folder, this one yellow. "This requires a proposal including a cost estimate."
I opened the folder and began looking through it. This was for the sort of marketing campaign I had just outlined to them. I skimmed the contents. The final page was an estimate by one of the well-known local firms. I stared at the number.
"Oh my, what is that doing in there?" Mrs. Grafton said, reaching forward and taking the sheet from me. "I shouldn't have let you see that." But she was smirking when she took the page away, and there was no doubt her supposed slip had been entirely intentional. "Do you have questions?"
"How soon do you require my proposal?"
"I expect a live presentation Monday at 11 AM."
"I'll be there," I said.
Grandmother Cadence changed the conversation, and I sat by quietly for the rest of the meal, somewhat stunned by the turn of events.
I had just become a small business owner.
That was three years ago.
* * * *
Mom and Dad did sell the house and moved into a small condo. They were going to upscale in size slightly to maintain room for me, but I talked to Mom about it and told them I'd be fine.
"I don't want you moving back to Portland," Mom said. "Honey, this is important."
"I know. I'm staying here."
"But you have your new business, and..."
"Mom, I'm fine. Do what is right for the two of you. It will all work out. If push comes to shove, Grandmother Cadence has a big house."
"I hate that house," she said. "I hate the idea of you living there."
"Do you hate the house, or do you hate the atmosphere in the house?"
"Both," she said. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
And so, I helped them prepare their house for sale, and then I began looking at studio apartments. But in an unexpected communication, Mom told Grandmother Cadence what I was doing, and I received a summons.
"What is this about a studio apartment in a tired, unsafe building?" were the first words out of her mouth when I arrived for dinner.
"I have to conserve money. I have some now, but it won't last if I spend it frivolously."
"You need not spend a dime," she said. "This is a big house. Pick a room."
"Grandmother Cadence," I replied, "that is very generous. But I intend to stand on my own two feet."
"That's not your only reason for declining my offer."
"I am afraid that while we get along now..."
"Oh. I didn't consider that risk." She studied me carefully. "Then I may have another option for you."
"I don't want a handout."
"This isn't a handout. And do not interrupt."
"I'm sorry, Grandmother Cadence," I said, lowering my eyes.
"That's right," she said after a moment. "There is a simple concept. Perhaps you've heard of it. It's called bartering."
"I don't understand."
"It's not a difficult concept," she said. "Someone has something you want. You have something they want. You come to an arrangement."
"I am familiar with that concept," I said. "I don't know what I have to trade with you."
"Not me. We have an appointment tomorrow at 1:30. You will first collect me for lunch. I can move this time if you have a client appointment."
"I'm free," I said.
And so Grandmother Cadence took me to lunch, and afterwards we joined Mrs. Grafton. Mrs. Grafton gave us a tour of a small office building. I didn't understand. I needed an apartment, and it wasn't legal to live in an office building. There were zoning ordinances for that.
We finished the tour, and then Mrs. Grafton turned to me. "Well?"
"I'm sorry. I'm confused. I need somewhere to live."
"Ah, of course," the woman replied. "Did you notice the occupancy rate?"
"You appear to be less than half full, but you're zoned commercial."
"Yes," she said. "But I also own that building." She pointed across the street to a very small house. "Formerly, that was the home for the building manager here. Now I have all my properties managed by a large firm downtown, including this one. That building is currently used for storage. It is zoned residential."
"You are offering me a place to live in exchange for managing the property? I'm sorry, but I don't know the first thing about property management."
"Of course you don't. And so I ask again, did you notice the occupancy rate?"
"Yes, Mrs. Grafton." That was when I got it. "You are offering me a place to live if I can improve the occupancy rate here."
"That is correct. We are currently at 45 percent, and our rental rates are below market value. I believe this is a location issue. The building is clean, and the neighborhood is quiet. There is ample parking and access. All my properties are well tended. But this property is my smallest, and the sort of customers who come into the management office are looking for more space than I can offer here. I need to appeal to much smaller businesses."
"I can improve your occupancy rate. I probably can't help you reach 100%, but we can do better than 45."
"Good. You have six months to show progress, and I expect steady improvement from there. I can have the home ready next week. You will be responsible for your own utilities."
"Slow down," I said. "I also want the upper west corner offices."
"Oh you do, do you? That is my prime space in this building."
"And the building shows poorly when your prime space is clearly going unused."
She laughed. "And so you do me a service by occupying the space. You may have the offices below it."
"They are too large for my needs. I do not wish to rattle around."
"Well, it seems you were paying attention on the tour."
"If someone wants the entire floor, then you can move me to another space," I added. "I don't know why your best space is partitioned into such a small section."
"Because the previous manager was an idiot, which is why this opportunity exists," she replied. "All right, but I expect results."
"The types of businesses who would want to move into this space are either one-person firms, who are better off working out of their own homes, or startups, who know they're going to expand out of these walls if they are successful. And if they are unsuccessful, they will fold. What are we going to do about that?"
"What do you recommend?"
"Flexible leasing if they don't ask for changes. Lower first year lease rates. And an option to exit the lease if they require additional space."
"That option is only exercisable if none of my other locations will serve their needs."
"You said you are below market rate here. They may not be able to afford full rate elsewhere."
"Then they really aren't in a position to go anywhere else, either, and they are just trying to hop leases because they found another sweetheart deal. I don't want that sort of business, and I don't play that game."
And so I nodded. "Understood."
"Are we agreed?" She held out her hand.
"We're agreed."
I never signed a lease. I had two new -- small, but new -- businesses in the building six weeks after I moved in and steady progress after that. Mrs. Grafton was very pleased.
* * * *
I balanced my priorities. I saw my parents often. I saw Grandmother Cadence as often, and I continued to help with her projects and events. I didn't receive any more direct business help from her or her friends, but I didn't need it.
Oh, I wasn't getting rich, but I was getting by, and that wasn't bad for a new startup.
* * * *
The phone rang. It rang three times before it jarred me into awareness. I'd been deeply focused on building a new marketing plan for a local restaurant. Sales had been slacking, and it wasn't due to poor food or poor service.
I glanced at it. Mom.
"Hey, Mom," I said.
"Blythe-" and then she was sobbing.
"Mom!" I said immediately. "Is it Dad?"
"No," she managed to say. "Your grandmother."
Seconds later, we were both sobbing.
Legalities
"Thank you all for coming."
I held Mom's hand as we turned to the lawyer, a sober woman somewhat older than Mom. With her was a young assistant, but I hadn't caught her name, and in the ensuing meeting, all she would do was hand folders to her boss.
With us were my Uncle Pete, Mom's older brother, along with his wife, Catherine, and their four children, Kate, Eric, Dan, and Jacob. Of the cousins, I was fourth; only Jacob was younger. One thing I never understood growing up. While Uncle Pete and his family would be present for the major holidays, I never saw any of his kids helping Grandmother Cadence with her events and projects the way I did, and they certainly didn't spend summers living with our shared grandmother.
We were all here for the reading of the will. I understood such a gathering wasn't necessarily as common as they appeared on television
, but Grandmother Cadence had insisted everyone be present. Anyone missing was cut from the will. And so we were all there.
I had no preconceptions. I figured her estate would be divided in two, at best. Half to Mom; half to Uncle Pete. Or maybe Mom was getting nearly nothing at all, as they had largely been estranged.
But then I wondered if this was the price of my childhood spent with my grandmother. Mom remained in the will.
I had no idea why I was here, but the lawyer herself had called and insisted quite strongly.
"If you can take seats," said the lawyer, a Ms. Hunt.
We weren't meeting in a traditional conference room. Instead, the room felt more like Grandmother's parlor, although it was right in the heart of the law firm. And so we each took comfortable seats on the sofa or chairs. The lawyer took her own seat, with her assistant behind her. The assistant handed over a folder, and the lawyer looked through it before nodding.
"Which of you is Blythe Montgomery?"
"I am."
"This is for her," Ms. Hunt said, handing an envelope to the assistant. The assistant crossed the room and handed it to me. I glanced at it. It had my name in Grandmother Cadence's clear hand. "You are to read it before we proceed."
"Do the rest of us have letters?" Kate asked.
"There is only one for Ms. Montgomery," the lawyer replied.
The assistant had a letter opener ready. I used it to slit the envelope and then withdrew a single piece of notepaper. The note was simple.
Dearest Blythe,
During the reading of the will, and immediately after, say as little as possible, make no decisions, and under no circumstances make any offers to your cousins or their parents.
Grandmother Cadence
It was just like her to be so to the point, a letter void of sentimentality. On the other hand, it can't have been easy for her to write, knowing she'd be dead when I received it.
My lips tightened, but I said nothing, folding it carefully and holding it in my lap with one hand, the other going out to my mother's hand.
"What does it say?" Kate asked.
"It is personal advice," I said. "We may continue, Ms. Hunt."
"Very good," said the lawyer. She opened the folder and removed a few sheets of paper. Then she looked up at all of us. "Cadence Todd has worked with this law firm for a very long time. She first drafted a will with us when her two children were just that: children. It periodically received updates, some minor, some major. There was a significant update shortly after Charlotte's 18th birthday." Charlotte was my mother, although she usually went by Charlie. "Then there were additional updates as various grandchildren were born. However, in the last fifteen years, there have been only minor changes based on the changing net worth of the estate. The most recent change was three months ago, and that change was based on an updated valuation of her real estate holdings."