The Secret of the Other Mansion

Part Five

Author’s note:

In Part Four, we learned some of the history regarding Matthew, Win, and Katie. We also witness a tender moment between Matthew and Honey, who are growing closer each day. In Part Five, we pick up later that same day.

Chapter Nine

Honey Wheeler smiled happily as she lounged comfortably under a tree on the front lawn of Manor House. Resting her golden-brown head in her clasped hands behind her, she leaned back in the soft grass and gazed at the blue sky overhead. Not a single cloud was in sight.

Feeling at one with her surroundings, she plucked a bright green blade of grass and placed it into her mouth as she had often seen their groom Regan do. She dubiously gnawed on the thin sheath, grimacing slightly when the plant’s green juices hit her taste buds. With a delicate wrinkle of her nose, Honey tossed the piece of grass to the ground, wishing she had a mint or something to drink.

Exhausted from her swim with her father earlier that day, she closed her eyes and allowed the sun’s rays to soak into her weary bones. A sigh of utter, contented bliss escaped her lips as she enjoyed basking in the warmth of the sunshine.

This could quite possibly be the best day of all her thirteen years.

Sure, to the average adolescent, Honey’s life was a fairy tale. Countless dutiful servants were at her beck and call, instructed to make her every wish a reality. She had traveled the four corners of the globe, spending more time exploring the Seven Wonders of the World than sleeping in her own bedroom. She was enrolled in the most prestigious boarding school money could buy, guaranteed to ensure her success later in life. A child of privilege, she’d never wanted for anything.

Anything except the love and affection of her parents, particularly her mother, that is.

Honey’s father had spent most of her childhood building his vast fortune. Matthew Wheeler had come from a relatively well-to-do background, but he’d determined early in his life that he would someday be rich; filthy, stinking rich. Although he’d married into wealth, he wasn’t content to rest on his laurels until he inherited the Harts’ money. Matthew Wheeler intended to build his own empire, by the blood and sweat of his brow.

And build his own empire he did, at the expense of time with his family.

Thankfully for his daughter, the past few months had been different. Realizing he was losing the most precious gift bestowed upon him, Matthew moved what was left of his family away from their hurry-scurry lives in New York City and transported them to the quaint town of Sleepyside-on-Hudson. Since their relocation, he’d spent more time with his daughter in the past week than he had her whole life. No longer a stranger to his little girl, he accompanied her on horseback rides, challenged her to races in the lake, taught her to play tennis on their court, and spent time just getting to know her.

After the past several months of heartbreak, this time with her father was exactly what the doctor had ordered for Honey. The restored relationship with Matthew had helped heal the wounds left behind from her mother’s unexpected death. The frail girl’s gloomy world was renewed, and for the first time in a long time, she began to see the sunshine peeking through the dark, foreboding clouds.

Though Honey had every material possession her heart desired, it was no substitute for the love and affection of the woman who gave birth to her. True, she was just now beginning to get close to her father, but Honey had never had any doubts that Matthew loved her. It was only her mother’s love that she questioned.

While her acquaintances at boarding school spoke of their mothers, Honey sat quietly in the background wondering what hers was really like, and if her mom even cared for her. Though she was known to society, Madeleine Wheeler had been, and still remained, a virtual stranger to her own daughter.

She could count on one hand the things she knew about her mother. Though the woman was a mystery, Honey remembered her in an almost reverent way. All the memories of her mother were glowing, placing the often- absent Madeleine on a gold-plated pedestal in spite of the woman’s selfish behavior.

Mother was the most beautiful woman Honey had ever seen. She had a grace that one could not learn; it must be inborn. She carried herself with the regal carriage of royalty. Honey never remembered seeing a hair out place on her mother’s head. She was always perfectly coifed, elegantly dressed, and serenely composed.

Mother loved decorating, and took care to find the special pieces herself. Their penthouse was rich and elegant, rivaling the most talented professional interior designers’ rooms. She decorated according to her ever-changing whims and would spend thousands on a frivolous piece before the salesperson could even bat an eye.

Mother thrived on being in the public limelight. She was careful to attend the activities a lady of her station was expected to attend. These events were more than social gatherings; they were opportunities to advance her husband’s position. Assisting his ascent up the executive ladder was her top priority, and she took it seriously.

Mother smelled of Chanel No. 9. After she left the room, her preferred scent lingered in a cloud that Honey loved to inhale. One of Honey’s earliest memories involved her mother’s silk robe, which smelled of her perfume. One night after her parents had left for a benefit, Honey had carried the garment to her bedroom. She buried her nose in the sweet aroma of the fabric, pretending she was safe in her mother’s arms. Even though Mother had been dead for several months, Honey could still remember the smell if she closed her eyes and concentrated.

And, perhaps the thing of which Honey was surest, Mother didn’t love her. She had spent hours on her appearance, her obsession with having a picture-perfect home, her determination to be the wife of a successful business magnate, but she’d spent very little time with the person who adored her most: her daughter.

Mother was dead and gone, and she would never be able to convince Honey that she was loved. Instead of ever repairing their relationship as Honey and Matthew had, there would forever be an empty place in her daughter’s heart where certainty of her mother’s love should be.

A lone tear trickled down her sunburned cheek. Although she was by herself, she hurriedly brushed it away and closed her eyes tightly before another one could escape. She often had tortured herself with the notion that most mothers loved their children unconditionally, and certainly more than they loved traveling in elite circles, their vast wealth, and their social standing.

Honey shook her head stubbornly. Determined not to allow unpleasant thoughts to mar her good day, she dismissed the painful conjectures regarding her mother far from her mind.

Sitting upright, she tucked a honey-colored strand of hair behind her ear and crossed one long leg over the other. The rumble of a car’s engine shifted her attention to the winding driveway heading up to Manor House. She covered her eyes with a slender hand to shield them from the bright sunlight.

“Miss Trask!” she cried joyfully, hurriedly rising to her feet. Forgetting her former exhaustion, she skipped to the late-model station wagon as her governess parked it out front.

With a laugh, Miss Trask stepped out of the car. She barely had closed the door when Honey’s arms enveloped her in a giant hug.

“You’re home!” Honey whooped in delight. She peeked excitedly through the back window of the automobile. “I could hardly wait for you to get back!”

Miss Trask’s bright blue eyes twinkled merrily. “Do you find potting soil particularly interesting?”

“Potting soil?” Honey echoed, inhaling sharply.

“Why, yes,” Miss Trask said, a hint of a smile wiggling mischievously at the corners of her mouth. “Your father asked me to pick up some bags of potting soil for Gallagher so he can finish planting the flowerbeds.”

Honey placed her hands on her slender hips, her bottom lip distended in a slight pout. “I know you’re teasing. Daddy told me this morning that he sent you to White Plains for a bike.”

“Why would Gallagher need a bicycle?” Miss Trask asked innocently.

“The bike isn’t for Gallagher,” Honey whispered, now alarmed that her governess wasn’t teasing.

Upon seeing the despondent look in Honey’s eyes, Miss Trask relented. “Look in the back, dear,” she instructed gently.

With a gleeful shriek, Honey raced to the back window of the automobile and peeked inside. There, resting on several bags of potting soil, was a shiny new bicycle, complete with a big basket!

“Oh!” Honey gasped in surprise. “It’s beautiful! It even has a speedometer!”

“I’m glad you like it,” Miss Trask said as she opened the back door and took out the bike. “I looked at every bicycle in the shop, but that one seemed to suit you.”

“It’s perfect,” Honey murmured, her hazel eyes filling with happy tears. She ran her hand along the shiny handlebars, and then lovingly patted the leather seat. “Perfectly perfect. Thank you so much, Miss Trask.”

“Don’t thank me; thank your father.” Miss Trask placed an arm around Honey’s shoulder, and then looked at her young charge in surprise. “Why, Honey, your clothes are wet.”

Honey giggled as she nervously swiped away a joyful tear. “I still have my bathing suit on,” she admitted. “Daddy and I spent the morning at the lake. I was so tired after our swim that I didn’t bother to take my suit off before I put on my dress.”

Miss Trask looked in disapproval at the frilly, white linen sundress and sandals Honey was wearing. “You can’t ride your bicycle in that. Why don’t you look in the backseat of the car?”

Reluctant to leave her new treasure, Honey opened the door to the backseat and pulled out a large-sized department store bag. Holding her breath, she looked inside.

“Honest-to-goodness dungarees!” she cried excitedly. She pulled out one pair and clasped them to her chest.

“There’s more.” Miss Trask took the blue jeans from Honey and motioned for her to dig deeper into the bag.

Honey looked under the denim pants which remained in the bag. “Moccasins!” she exclaimed, pulling them out of the bag. She hurriedly kicked off the fancy white sandals she’d been wearing and stuck her feet in the new, comfortable play shoes.

“They fit!” she proclaimed merrily. She hopped up and down to try them out. “And they’re really comfy!”

Miss Trask laughed as she watched Honey dance around in unabashed glee. “Why don’t you go change while I take these bags of soil to Gallagher?”

“All right!” Honey scooped up her new wardrobe and placed it back in the large bag. After transferring a kiss from her hand to her bicycle seat, she scurried to the Manor House, a happy smile brightening her thin face.

Trixie sighed wearily as she half-heartedly ran her dust rag over the coffee table in the living room of Crabapple Farm. Just in case her mother didn’t hear her, she exhaled again, only this time a bit louder.

Helen Belden glanced up at her daughter from the green beans she was stringing. “Something wrong, dear?”

Trixie merely shrugged her shoulders. “What makes you think something’s wrong?” she asked in a mournful tone.

“What makes me think something is wrong,” Helen began with a laugh, “is that you’ve sighed approximately ten times in the past five minutes, and that you’ve been dusting that same spot on the coffee table for just as long. If you keep it up, you’re going to rub the oak finish right off.”

“I’m sorry, Moms.” Trixie hung her head guiltily. Sometimes she was ashamed of how selfish she could be. “I guess I’m just kind of anxious.”

“Anxious?” Helen repeated.

“I was hoping you’d let me skip the rest of my dusting. I wanted to walk to the Manor House so I could meet our new neighbors.” Trixie looked up at her mother, her blue eyes pleading for a respite from her chores.

“I suppose I could let you skip out on dusting, just this once…” Helen began.

“Yippee!” Trixie joyfully tossed the dust cloth in the air. “You’re the best, Moms!”

Helen smiled knowingly. “I hate to bring this up while you’re singing my praises, but what about watching Bobby? You agreed to baby-sit to earn money for your horse.”

Trixie merely shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll just take him with me,” she called as she ran upstairs. Several minutes later, she came bounding down the stairs, her fingers clamped firmly around Bobby’s upper arm.

“Yow!” Bobby hollered, trying to squirm out of his sister’s vise grip. “Yer hurtin’ me, Trixie! My arm’s still sore from where ya yanked me to Jim’s house yes’erday.”

Trixie seemed unconcerned with her brother’s discomfort. “C’mon, Bobby, hurry up. We’re going to meet Mr. Wheeler’s daughter!”

“We ain’t goin’ to the Manor House,” Bobby commented. “We’re headin’ to the bathroom.”

“I have to wash your grimy little hands,” Trixie snapped. “You can’t meet rich people with dirty hands.”

“Why not?” Bobby asked plaintively, his lower lip pooched in a pout.

Trixie sighed impatiently. “You can’t meet rich people when you look so grubby. They’ll throw you off their property.”

Bobby’s mood quickly changed. “Mr. Wheeler wouldn’t throw me offa his prop’ty. He was real nice. Why, if his daughter’s as nice as him, I’ll ‘dore her, even if she is rich.”

“Quit saying that!” Trixie moaned, ignoring her mother’s amused smile as she and Bobby left the house. “You already called Mr. Wheeler rich. Don’t call his daughter rich, too.”

“But you called ‘em rich,” Bobby pointed out with a defiant lift of his chin.

Trixie sniffed indignantly. “That’s different.”

“What’s wrong with bein’ rich?” Bobby queried, a confused expression covering his chubby face. “Mr. Wheeler didn’t care that I called him rich. He even tolded me what an entremanure was.”

“Entrepreneur,” Trixie corrected impatiently. “Just keep your mouth shut when we get there or else.”

“Or else what?”

“Or else you’ll die a slow, excruciatingly painful death,” Trixie threatened with a roll of her eyes.

Ten minutes later, Trixie and Bobby began the climb to the top of Manor House driveway. At the turn in the road, they saw a painfully thin girl on a shiny bicycle coasting towards them.

The girl looked up at them, fright marring her delicate features. “Watch out!” she cried. She jerked the handlebars violently to one side, making the bicycle wobble precariously. Unable to remain upright, she crashed her bicycle onto the paved driveway, her long limbs tangled between the two tires.

“Oh!” Trixie gasped, as she stared at the girl sprawled out on the pavement. As if the situation weren’t bad enough, she heard the roar of an engine coming up the driveway behind them.

“Stay off the road!” she commanded Bobby as she hastily pushed him off the road into the grass. The frightened boy’s eyes widened, and thankfully he obeyed without questioning her orders.

Mustering all her speed, Trixie scurried to the girl’s side and pulled her out of the road. Mere seconds later, a laundry truck lumbered past them, crushing the bike as the girls shivered from fear, only inches out of the truck’s destructive path.

The truck driver rolled down his window to make sure the young people were uninjured. Once positive nobody had been hurt, he stuck his head out the open window and yelled, “Say, what goes on here? Why don’t you look where you’re going?”

A nasty retort was on the tip of Trixie’s tongue, but before she could say it, her attention shifted to the strange girl she’d rescued. The stranger looked at Trixie, her hazel eyes seeming much too large for her gaunt face.

With an annoyed shake of his head, the driver drove on past them.

“Th-th-thank you,” the girl stammered, tears streaming down her sunburned cheeks. “I-If you hadn’t p-p-pulled me ou-out of the way—”

Sobs made the girl’s bony shoulders shake as she buried her face in Trixie’s neck. Trixie nervously patted her back, wondering if there was something else she should be doing.

Where’s Brian when you need him? she mused to herself. I wonder if she’s in shock or if she’s always like this.

More frightened than he had ever been before in all his six years, Bobby inched closer to his sister and the skinny girl. With a trembling hand, he poked Trixie on the arm. “Is she hurted real bad?”

The stranger’s cries ceased as she looked up at Bobby. She sat up, shifting her hazel gaze back to Trixie. “W-who are you?”

“I’m Trixie Belden,” she announced, thankful their new neighbor was alive. After all, this was the girl who had moved so close to the Beldens; what adventures could they have with her dead? “My kid brother and I live in the hollow in that little white-frame house. Crabapple Farm, you know.”

The girl stared solemnly from Trixie to Bobby and then back to Trixie. With a slender hand, she rubbed the tears from her eyes. “My name is Honey— Honey Wheeler. And thank you again for rescuing me.”

“Are you hurt?” Trixie asked, feeling Honey’s thin limbs for any sign of broken bones.

“My knee is pretty banged up,” Honey admitted. “The sight of blood makes sick. That’s why I froze like that when the truck was coming towards me. I saw blood dripping from my knee and I felt woozy.”

The word “Sissy!” was on the tip of Trixie’s tongue, but she caught herself before it slipped out. “Well, it looks like I got here just in time.”

“I’d never ridden a bike before,” Honey told her shyly.

“Really?” Trixie blurted out. “Gosh, I’ve been riding one since I was Bobby’s age.”

“My mother wouldn’t let me have one in the city because of traffic,” Honey explained softly. “Besides, I was hardly ever home. I spent most of my time at boarding school and camp, and bikes aren’t allowed there.”

“Well, it’s good your mom let you have one now.”

Honey remained silent. She looked down at the ground, her golden-brown hair shielding her face.

Uncomfortable by the silence, Trixie exclaimed, “Gleeps! Your bike’s in a zillion pieces! Looks like you won’t be riding it again any time soon.”

Honey glanced mournfully at her new bicycle. “Daddy will get me a new one, I’m sure. I guess I’ll be safer on a horse for now.” She timidly moved a step closer to Trixie. “Do you ride horseback?”

Trixie shook her head ruefully. “No, but I want to learn like anything. I’m earning the money now to buy a horse just as soon as I can.”

“I’ll teach you to ride horseback,” Honey offered with a wide smile. “Then perhaps, after I get a new bike, you could show me how to ride it. Without falling off, that is.”

Trixie could hardly believe her ears. “That’s great,” she gasped. “Let’s start right away.” She turned impatiently to Bobby, who was still shaken up from Honey’s near miss with the laundry truck. “You go home now, Bobby, and play in the sandbox.”

Bobby ignored his sister’s command and grinned up at Honey. “Hey, can I look at yer knee, Honey? I like seein’ blood. Mebbe I can put some Imadyin’ on it.”

“Iodine,” Trixie hissed down at him. “Not Imadyin’, you little squirt.”

“I call it Imadyin’,” Bobby corrected with a scowl, “ ’cuz it hurts real bad when Moms puts it on my boo-boos an’ I feel like I’m a dyin’. So can I see it, Honey? Can I?”

At the mention of blood, Honey began teetering back and forth. “Blood?” she echoed softly, clutching Trixie’s arm for support.

Trixie exhaled loudly in exasperation. “It’s not that bad, Honey. Let’s go up to your house and I’ll bandage it up for you. Then we can go look at your horses.”

Trixie assisted her new friend to Manor House, Bobby tagging along merrily.

“Sit down here,” Trixie instructed once they arrived to the front lawn of the mansion. “I’ll take a look at your knee.” She carefully rolled up the bottom of Honey’s blue jeans. “Ow! That must’ve hurt. It’s worse than I thought.”

Honey looked down at her knee. “My brand-new dungarees, torn to shreds!” she exclaimed excitedly. “I got holes in them! Real live holes!”

Trixie giggled as she inspected the wound. “I don’t know what you’re so excited about. I get holes in my clothes all the time, and I’ve never seen Moms whoop in delight yet.”

“But I’ve never had holes before. This is exciting!” Honey looked up suddenly and turned a deathly pale. “Oh, no,” she moaned. “The blood on my knee... I-I’m going to faint…”

With one quick movement, Trixie placed an arm around the girl’s thin shoulders to steady her. “You’re all right, Honey,” Trixie instructed quietly. “Just keep your head down. Bobby, go knock on the door and ask for a cool cloth. It might help Honey feel better.”

“Okey dokey,” Bobby called, his sandy curls bouncing as he nodded his head vigorously. He scurried to the front door of the house as fast as his short, chubby legs would take him.

Minutes later, he ran breathlessly back to the girls, another person in tow. A middle-aged woman with very short, crisp gray hair held a small first aid kit in one hand and Bobby’s hand in the other.

“I gotted holp for ya, Honey!” Bobby triumphantly called.

In spite of her pain, Honey smiled at the little boy. “My hero,” she gushed, giggling as Bobby’s eyes brightened with pride.

“Let’s see your leg, dear.” The woman knelt down, carefully pulling Honey’s torn blue jeans over her knee. Her thin lips pressed into a frown as she studied the wound. “That’s an ugly gash. It may hurt when I clean it.”

Trixie noticed how Honey’s features became pinched, and promptly grabbed the girl’s slender hand. “You’ll be okay, Honey,” she encouraged.

Honey silently nodded, her jaw clenched as she readied herself for the inevitable pain.

The lady took out the clean cloth that she had placed in the first aid kit and gently wiped the gravel out of Honey’s wound. Once it was clean, she generously applied iodine to the scrape.

“Are you doing all right, Honey?” the woman asked, glancing apprehensively at the young girl.

Honey merely nodded again, her teeth clenched.

Trixie squeezed Honey’s hand a bit tighter. “You’re doing great.”

The lady smiled as she bandaged Honey’s knee. “Nothing damaged that won’t heal itself. Except for your dungarees, that is,” she added with a wry smile.

Relieved that she had survived the first aid administration, Honey’s featured relaxed. “That’s all right! I like them ripped.”

The woman patted Honey’s arm affectionately. As she raised upright, she fastidiously brushed away any dirt that may have collected on her tailored pants. She fastened her bright blue eyes on Trixie, smiling congenially.

“Bobby told me what happened with the laundry truck,” she told them. “Thank you so much for rescuing Honey. I don’t know how we’d manage around here without her.”

“No problem,” Trixie murmured. Her cheeks blazed a brilliant red as they did whenever she received a compliment. Wanting to change the subject, she looked up at the gray-haired woman. “Are you Honey’s mother?”

The woman’s gaze quickly shifted to Honey. Sensing the young girl’s discomfort, the woman answered, “No, I’m Honey’s governess, Miss Trask.”

Trixie gulped in embarrassment, the red flame creeping from her cheeks up to the tips of her ears and down to the nape of her neck. “How do you do?” she mumbled.

Miss Trask smiled brightly. “It’s very nice to finally meet you. I’m assuming you’re the banker’s daughter?”

“Yes,” Trixie said with a nod. “My name’s Trixie Belden and this is my kid brother, Bobby.”

Honey’s governess turned her attention to the chubby-cheeked boy standing beside Trixie. “A pleasure to meet you, Bobby.”

Bobby reached out one sturdy little hand and tugged on Miss Trask’s pant leg. “Hey, do you like to play Hide an’ Seek? I bet I could find lotsa places to hide in yer house.”

“Why, that’s my favorite game!” Miss Trask exclaimed. “Would you like to go play with me while Honey and Trixie get to know one another?”

“Sure,” Bobby answered, taking hold of her hand. “I’m a good hider. One time, I beated my big brother Mart real bad. I hided in my closet all day, an’ he never did finded me.”

Miss Trask looked up at Trixie, her bright blue eyes twinkling merrily.

“I don’t think Mart tried very hard to find him,” Trixie commented with a shrug of her shoulders.

The governess chuckled as she led the little boy into the house, their clasped hands swinging between them. “Have fun, girls,” she called over her shoulder.

Once Miss Trask and Bobby were in the house, Trixie turned to her new friend. “Gleeps, Honey! I’m sorry about calling your governess your mom. Sometimes I can be real dumb.”

Honey smiled and laid a gentle hand on her new friend’s arm. “It’s okay, Trixie. It was an easy mistake to make.”

“When will I get to meet your mom?” Trixie questioned. “I need to make sure I don’t wear patched jeans or a stained shirt that day. I wouldn’t want her to think I’m a bum.”

Honey’s thin lips were firmly clamped together. She balled her fingers into fists, and clenched them so tightly that they shook. Tears were stinging her hazel eyes, but she breathed in and out deeply, blinking back the moisture that threatened to fall. Just as she was preparing to explain her mother’s death to Trixie, she caught a glimpse of a red head outside the newly whitewashed stable.

“Regan’s back from exercising Jupiter!” she exclaimed abruptly. “Do you want to have your first riding lesson?”

“Do I?” Trixie bounced in excitement, her springy curls bobbing up and down. All thoughts of Honey’s mother were forgotten. “Are you kidding? I’m just dying to ride! Let’s go!”

Honey giggled as her exuberant neighbor impetuously yanked on her arm. “You sure are impatient. I’m not even in my riding habit or boots.”

“You don’t need that junk out here, silly,” Trixie teased. “We’re in the country, not at some big fancy horseshow.”

Honey looked down at her pale green blouse, newly ripped blue jeans, and comfortable moccasins. She’d never looked so shabby in her entire life, and in her opinion, she’d never looked better. With a broad grin, she hitched up the waist of her slightly baggy dungarees.

“Race ya to the stables,” she challenged. Before Trixie could accept or decline, Honey took off running.

“Hey, no fair!” Trixie laughed as she vainly tried to catch up to her long-legged friend.

Honey kept her lead, running faster than she ever had before. The recent cut to her knee was now merely a mild sting, and even that couldn’t hold her back. She relished the sunshine’s warmth on her face, the soft crunch of the grass under her feet, the wind whipping through her silky hair. She stretched out her thin arms as she pretended to be bird in flight. Like a sparrow that had just been released from a cage, she spread her wings and enjoyed her newfound freedom. Whooping in delight, Honey raced toward the stable, leaving her unhappy past behind her.

Credits:

Thank you to my wonderful editors, Kathy and Steph! As always, you were a huge help! I love you both. And a special thank you to my other editor, Kaye, who is taking a well-deserved break while she’s moving into her new home.

As faithful readers should know, I don’t think Madeleine Wheeler is a bad person, just misunderstood. This story gives Honey’s point of view, which is not necessarily how it really was. The Journey Trilogy in my Portraits of the Past Universe tells the real reason that Madeleine was so distant from her daughter. I felt releasing this chapter after I’d given Maddie’s side in Journey made this a bit sadder. Sometimes, “what might have been” isn’t necessarily the best thing that could’ve happened.

Matthew Wheeler’s background was given in “My Boy: The Long Journey Home”. There we learn that he was the adopted son of an officer in the Marines. In a later story, we learn that his father took a position in Washington D.C. Honey mentions in the books that both of her parents came from wealthy backgrounds; however, I’ve taken liberty to make Matthew’s a bit more upper middle class. I like the idea that he was a self-made millionaire.