Yours, For Good (Cozy Latine Billionaires #4)

2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Date : July 2 To : [email protected] From : [email protected] Subject : Let me introduce myself

Dear Mr. Smith,

You wanted a summary of my activities every month and it's probably too early to start, but I couldn't stop myself. I've been in San Francisco for less than a day and I've lost count of how many times I've had to pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming.

I'm brimming with excitement. I don't quite know what to do with myself!

A thrill like this has to be expressed somehow. The documents I received didn't include instructions as to the tone expected from my messages, and I have to admit I find that to be a relief.

Let me explain. As someone whose childhood involved only one parent and no other family; and since we moved around and she passed— this complete rootlessness plus devotion to studying and working has left me quite alone. I don't really know anyone who cares about what my life looks like, except you… or knows much about who I am and where I come from, except you… in the weirdest way possible. That means there's no one else I can turn to for that familial support but you (Mrs. Lippett will never be an option). I hope you can cope, because feeling like this is too much to contain into one single brain. Please let me borrow yours!

I know this is quite unconventional, but I hope you won't mind. If you are a JGH board member, and are sending me to this exclusive incubator despite its rules, and are paying for my everything like this… then maybe you're a bit unconventional too, right?

In other words, even though you're my benefactor, I hope you allow me the fantasy and let me write to you like you're an older, close family friend. Someone I can write letters to that look like a diary entry, rather than a business report.

It's so lonely to look around and know that no one cares. I think that's why I've started to imagine you like a dear friend, or even better— a dear relative. Imagine that, me having a family !

If I take the risk and assume that you will have no problem with this, my next request is bolder still. Ever since I saw your shadow leaving the John Grier Home, I've never thought of you as Mr. Smith. I know it's a fake name, so I started calling you Mr. Kind Trustee in my head and— to start my letters with honesty— sometimes Mr. Generous Rich Man, or Mr. Mystery Man. None of those nicknames sound particularly caring, like one might call an older family friend. But I know nothing about you, so how could I choose a name that was more personal?

Well, I know one thing about you: you're tall. When I saw you, you were backlit by a car's headlights and your shadow cast a long form on the walls and floor. Your legs looked like you were on stilts! But the only thing I know that references long legs is the spider, and I canNOT call you Daddy. Not in this day and age. So after listing a few options (Mr. Clothespole almost won), I settled on Mr. Beanpole. You'll quickly realize I like to amuse myself, and I've let out more than a couple of chuckles at thinking of you with that name. It's so bad!

So, Mr. Beanpole. You (or your assistant? Or your lawyer?) were very clear about never expecting any answers from you and not to pester you with questions (!). But, if you found it in yourself to reply, please tell me— are you old or very old? Should I imagine you as a friend I made playing chess with in the library, bored out of his wits because he retired too early at fifty and after ten years a man has to find a hobby… or as the grandfather of a friend who saw me grow up, and who generously has made me into his protégé to keep his mind young?

I take comfort in knowing you might not even be reading this email/letter, as much as I take comfort in the idea that you might be. But if you're reading this, let us keep this between you and I; we don't need to tell Mrs. Lippett.

You said in your instructions that you do not want me to mention my eternal gratitude, so I won't, but please know that I know exactly how much this opportunity has the potential to revolutionize my life and give me everything I've ever dreamed of. I hope you do not regret your decision to sponsor me after receiving this email.

Sincerely,

Eleanora Toledo

PS: if you want me to be more professional, let me know and I'll make sure to do so.

Javier

She assumed I was old. Out of everything in her email, that was the part that surprised me the most. The screen on my phone went dark as I processed her email, and put it down on my desk.

Alone in my New York townhouse, I rubbed my lip with the pads of two fingertips. Of course she would jump to all sorts of conclusions, some of which were bound to be wrong. I had done my best to keep my identity private; it fit my goals much better if only a select few knew I was behind this sponsorship. If the wrong people learned what I did, they might find a way to ruin it for Eleanora or others like her.

Besides, who would benefit from her knowing it was me? I didn't need her to repay me, or feel any kind of obligation toward me. I didn't need recognition for my initiatives. If I was a full-time philanthropist on a mission to die not-a-billionaire-anymore, that was something for me and my conscience to tackle.

Eleanora was welcome to imagine me as an old family friend, if that served her. It didn't hurt anyone. The same with the nickname; my friends might tease me and say I was a bit too high strung, but I knew how to take things in stride.

You don't , my friends whispered in my mind. I smirked and ignored their imagined voices.

I leaned back in my chair. My necklace had come out of its usual hiding place under my shirt, and I played with the ring and medal hanging from it. The ring had been my late grandmother's, and the medal had been in the Pendleton family for generations. My father's mother was a driving force behind me doing half the things I did with my money; the metal between my fingers was a good reminder of what really mattered, and that wasn't to explain who I was to Eleanora. I didn't need her to call me by my name or know my age for me to be a good person, and use my money to do good. Give people freedom. The kind my grandmother never had for herself.

No, Eleanora could take this opportunity and shine without anything else changing. Like the students I'd sponsored before her, she could create opportunities for herself and others in her world, forging waves of change from within the rooms where decisions were made.

Amusement could be all I got from it. Her sparkly personality had shimmered through while I read her report; still, I expected more serious messages from her— not a Mister Mystery Man or Mr. Beanpole. It was intriguing; if Eleanora's future emails were anything like her first, then this sponsorship round would offer a few chuckles and a fresh point of view.

My best friend Max's voice resounded in my mind, offering unsolicited, playful advice. It'll do you good. You're far too stuck in your ways.

I found my glasses and opened my journal, shaking my head at Max and his influence from across the country. Blue ink spread on the pages, the pen smooth as I wrote about it all.

Later, I imagined Eleanora's future emails— engaging letters to witness her achieve her dreams. I didn't think much of it when I changed the rules on my phone and allowed her emails to show a notification.