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in the world。
〃Not this story again；〃 moaned Philip。
It was the fall of 1963。 I pounded the pavement until I found a job； a shitty job； washing dishes at Mama Gina's on East 88th and Lex。 A dollar and twenty…five cents an hour。
Philip was shaking his head。 Tom felt numb。
Broadbent stopped pacing； planted himself in front of the desk； and faced the camera； slightly hunched； glowering at them。 I can just see you three now。 Philip； you're no doubt shaking your head sadly； Tom； you're probably up and swearing。 And Vernon； you think I'm just plain nuts。 God； I can just see the three of you。 I feel sorry for you； I really do。 This isn't easy。
He resumed his pacing。 Gina's wasn't far from the Metropolitan Museum of Art。 I went in there one day on a whim； and it changed my life。 I spent my last dollar on a membership； and I began going to that museum every day。 I fell in love with the place。 What a revelation！ I'd never seen such beauty； such…He waved his large hand。 Christ； but you know all this。
〃We certainly do；〃 said Philip dryly。
The point is； I started with nothing。 Nada。 I worked hard。 I had a vision for my life； a goal I read everything I could get my hands on。 Schliemann and the discovery of Troy； Howard Carter and King Tut's tomb； John Lloyd Stephens and the city of Copán； the excavation of the Villa of the Mysteries at Pompeii。 I dreamed of finding treasures like these； digging them up； owning them。 I cast around： Where in the world were there lost tombs and temples still to be found？ The answer was Central America。 There you could still find a lost city。 There was still a chance for me。
Now he paused to open a box on his desk。 He withdrew a cigar； trimmed and lit it。
〃Jesus Christ；〃 said Philip。 〃The old man's incorrigible。〃
Broadbent waved out the match； tossed it onto the desk； and grinned。 He had beautiful teeth； and they glinted white。 I'm going to die anyway； why not enjoy my last few months。 Right； Philip？ Still smoking that pipe？ I'd give it up if I were you。
He turned and paced； trailing little puffs of blue。 Anyway； I saved my money until I had enough to go to Central America。 I went there not because I wanted to make money…although that was part of it； I'll admit…but because I had a passion。 And I found it。 I found my lost city。
He spun； turned； paced。
That was the beginning。 That got me started。 I dealt in art and antiquities only as a way to finance my collecting。 And look：
He paused； gesturing open…palmed to the unseen collection in the house around him。
Look。 Here's the result。 One of the greatest private collections of art and antiquities in the world。 These aren't just things。 Every piece in here has a story； a memory for me。 How I first saw it； how I fell in love with it； how I acquired it。 Each piece is part of me。
He seized a jade object on his desk and held it toward the camera。
Like this Olmec head； which I found in a tomb in Piedra Lumbre。 I remember the day 。。。 the heat； the snakes 。。。 and I remember seeing it for the first time； lying there in the dust of the tomb； where it had been for two thousand years。
Philip snorted。 〃The joys of theft。〃
He put the piece back down。 For two thousand years it had rested there…an object of such exquisite beauty it makes you want to cry。 I wish I could tell you my feelings when I saw that flawless jade head just lying there in the dust。 It wasn't created to vegetate in the darkness。 I rescued it and brought it back to life。
His voice cracked with emotion。 He paused； cleared his throat； put the head down。 Then he fumbled for the back of his chair and sat down； laying his cigar aside in the ashtray。 He turned back to face the camera； leaning forward on the desk。
I'm your father。 I've watched you three grow up。 I know you better than you know yourselves。
〃Not likely；〃 said Philip。
As I've watched you grow up； I've been dismayed to see in you a feeling of entitlement。 Privilege。 A rich…kid's syndrome。 A feeling that you don't have to work too hard； study too hard； exert yourselves…because you're the sons of Maxwell Broadbent。 Because someday； without lifting a goddamn finger； you'll be rich。
He rose again； restless with energy。 Look； I know it's mostly my fault。 I've catered to your whims； bought you everything you wanted； sent you to all the best private schools； dragged you around Europe。 I felt guilty about the divorces and all that。 I wasn't born to be a married man； I guess。 But what have I done？ I've raised three kids who； instead of living splendid lives； are waiting for their inheritance。 Great Expectations redux。
〃Bullshit；〃 said Vernon angrily。
Philip； you're an assistant professor of art history at a junior college on Long Island。 Tom？ A horse vet in Utah。 And Vernon？ Well； I don't even know what you're doing now； probably living in some ashram somewhere； giving your money to a fraudulent guru。
〃Not true！〃 said Vernon。 〃Not true！ Go to hell！〃
Tom could say nothing。 He felt a nauseous tightening somewhere in his gut。
And on top of that； the father went on； you three don't get along。 You never learned to cooperate； to be brothers。 I started to think： What have I done？ What have I done？ What kind of father have I been？ Have I taught my sons independence？ Have I taught them the value of work？ Have I taught them self…reliance？ Have I taught them to take care of each other？
He paused and fairly shouted out； No！
After all this； after everything； the schools； Europe； the fishing and camping trips； I've raised three quasi…failures。 Christ； it's my fault that it ended up this way； but there it is。 And then I found out I was dying； and that put me in a panic。 How was I going to fix things？
He paused； turned。 He was breathing hard now； and his face was flushed。
Nothing like having death poke his stinking mug into your face to make you think about things。 I had to figure out what to do with my collection。 I sure as hell wasn't going to give it to a museum or some university for a bunch of tweedy…dums to gloat over。 And I wasn't going to let some scummy auction house or dealer get rich from all my hard work； break it up and disperse it to the four corners after I'd spent a lifetime assembling it。 Absolutely not。
He mopped his brow； wadded up the handkerchief in a fist； and gestured at the camera with it。
I had always planned to leave it to you。 But when it came down to it； I realized it would be the very worst thing I could do to you。 No way was I going to hand over to you half a billion dollars that you hadn't earned。
He went back behind the desk； eased his enormous frame into the chair； and took another cigar from a leather box。
Look at me； still smoking。 Too late now。
He clipped the end； lit it。 The cloud of smoke confused the automatic focus on the camera； and it went blurry； shifting back and forth； trying to find its focus。 When the smoke drifted leftward out of the frame； Maxwell Broadbent's square； handsome face leapt back into focus。
And then it came to me。 It was brilliant。 All my life I'd been excavating tombs and dealing in grave goods。 I knew all the tricks for hiding tombs； every booby trap； everything。 I suddenly realized that I； too； could take