Yours, For Good (Cozy Latine Billionaires #4)

3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Date : July 5 To : Mr. Smith From : Eleanora Subject : A whole new me

Dear Mr. Beanpole,

I know I just sent you an email three days ago but, as I've already established, I hope you'll let me imagine you're an old friend rather than a trustee offering me patronage. As a friend, I need to tell you about how my brain has been constantly short circuiting.

It may sound like a simple life, but what a day. I looked up a few blogs and visited four of the local attractions they suggested. Then I walked up the hill where your condo is, the soft breeze on my skin, and a huge smile on my face. Exhausted, sure, but thoroughly dazzled by freedom . **POSSIBILITY**

I never imagined life could be this way. Since you are on the John Grier Home's board, you probably know about my past to some degree. Daughter to a single mom who died of a sudden illness no one diagnosed in time. Working whatever jobs I could while I upgraded some of my high school grades. Fighting to earn a scholarship, and finally getting it with JGH. Did you know that the chances of someone like me finishing grad school could be comparable to the margin of error?

But now I'm here, and I have a very generous allowance, and a wonderful program starts on Monday. I thought I'd have to shuffle three jobs and work in the remaining hours to get my business off the ground, like so many people are forced to but, thanks to you, I've jumped into a life of privilege like I never thought I'd have.

I won't think yet about how this changes my intersectionality— I'm ashamed to admit it, but I want to believe the dream for a bit longer. This is an opportunity like no other: I get to invent myself in a way that underprivileged and historically marginalized folks never dare to envision. I've walked the first quarter of my life shouldering the brunt of this unfair system, with my light brown skin, dark brown eyes, and dark brown hair; plus ethnic name, and no network or financial cushion to fall back on.

Does it make me a horrible person if I want to pretend I'm the kind of human this world was built by? Built for? Just for a day or two, I promise.

Eleanora Toledo

Date : July 11 To : Mr. Smith From : Eleanora Subject : Rough start

Dear Mr. Beanpole,

I started the program on Monday. In the past three days I've been forced to crash right back into reality.

I believe Mrs. Lippett hinted at it, the night she told me of your patronage, but the documents in the folder I received didn't prepare me for the truth of it all. I was told that my generous allowance was set up to provide equal footing with my peers in this program and, wow, I get it now. When Mrs. Lippett said this program was very exclusive and for people with the right connections… well, but I've been silly! OF COURSE that means rich people. Somehow I assumed it meant underprivileged folk who'd managed to meet the right peeps, but no. It's for rich people who know other rich people, the true kind of "right connection" that seems to matter so much in our society.

Apparently, this year there weren't enough of the appropriate type of candidates so, instead of ten, we're seven. Out of all of them, I like Sally McBride the best. She is sharing a penthouse with Julia Rutledge Pendleton, who's also in the program but hasn't really talked to me yet. It's fine; Sally is sunny and friendly and made me feel like one of the group. I think we'll hit it off.

Don't get me wrong, Mr. B. I'm not really full of hope for my social standing with this group. They speak a language I don't know and discuss trips to Europe or the coasts of South Asia like I talked about the hallways that led me from my bedroom to the dining room at JGH. Julia, who casually boasted connections to ancient New York families, made a throwaway comment about how this mentoring program was little more than bureaucratic red tape for her and I just— how can two people be so different? Something tells me I won't like Julia very much.

Seriously. She squinted at me in the most subtle, sarcastic way when I shared my name. Look, I know it's not a classic English name, but, really. Why so mean? And it's not like 99% of people in the country have names fully descended from the United Kingdom and Henry the VIII. I wish I didn't react to it, but I did. Worse, I promptly gave myself a nickname. How sad, for I have never had someone give me one and the only reason I have one now is because I couldn't take a bit of derision in someone's eyes.

Are you shocked at how much meaning I make of the little things?

If so, you'll be happy to know I've attached my first written plan for the next few weeks. That includes social time and spending money on my own personal growth, like you expressed in the initial documents. I don't know what to expect out of sending it to you. Likely, nothing… but I feel better letting you know that, if you had any suggestions or guidance in the matter, I'd be happy to listen. All you have to do is hit that reply button :)

Sincerely,

Nora Toledo

PS: Eleanora might be an old fashioned name, but I love its meaning: shining light . I know I have a happy personality. Do you think the name gave me it, perhaps?

Javier

Crap. Three emails and three days in, and things were getting dicey.

I had always suspected that using my connections and power to get a JGH student into the incubator could be rough for them. Still, when I came across reports like Elea— like Nora's, my hope remained that the benefits would outweigh the drawbacks.

From her funny, vibrant essays, to her college applications; and to the business plan for a cross-country educational franchise, which she had submitted to the scholarships that rejected her— she showed a bright mind, a generous heart, and a zeal for life. Even though she should have never been placed in a vulnerable situation where she needed to be resilient… hell, she'd been resilient.

It was the kind of report I sought for everywhere. A window through which to find the people who could go far, if only doors were opened for them to go through.

What I didn't expect from picking Nora this time, was learning that my niece was part of the incubator as well. Julia was my oldest brother's daughter, and just a few years younger than me. I didn't count my blood family as my nearest and dearest, and perhaps that's why I had no idea that Julia would be there.

It would have been easy for my niece to get an invitation. At the end of the day, this incubator was closed off and those involved liked to think of it as an exclusive situation for people with the right connections— and Julia had those to spare. The founders of the group prided themselves on being one of the oldest, most powerful billionaire-created and billionaire-seeded networks in the world. In reality, it rarely did more than stroke everyone's ego, and move a few million dollars into another rich person's pockets.

The exclusivity made me rage. When I was a kid and had the chance to spend time with my grandmother, she instilled in me so much of the wisdom she had gained through her life. A big part of it had been her encouragement and outright dare, that I could grow up and change things.

It was why she had left me all her money and made me the richest of all the Pendletons— she believed I could rewrite the narrative. That I would take her teachings and do what she never could.

Creating the incubator sponsorship was part of that plan. As someone with no other job aside from being a philanthropist, I didn't have the corporate connections to properly support a young person's dreams. I didn't have the business acumen to mentor them, either. By providing an invitation to the incubator, I got to connect bright people who lacked networks and financial resources, with one of the best organizations to offer startup development and access to funding in the Global North.

The risk was in who I chose to sponsor. All incubator founders, mentors, and investors; dammit, often the participants themselves, they were elitist as fuck. Their superiority complex was written into their policies. No one could receive an invitation unless sponsored by folk who got pre-cleared by the directors and their team; when I got in, I had to prove just how deep my pockets were. That was never the problem; I had more money than most of them. Still, I was sure I wouldn't have made it in if not for my super billionaire status, my last name, and the many businesses I was linked to via family and friends. In their prejudice, they expected me to reach deep into my networks to bring in the right people to the incubator.

They did not count on my belief that the right people could be chosen by virtue of their dreams and drive to achieve them, rather than the name they'd been born into. I worried what the group might do, were they to learn I secretly sponsored underserved, disenfranchised people. While I always instructed John Grier students to keep their background vague, I didn't want them kicked out for a bogus reason, or to find they wouldn't be financed because of investors' prejudice.

Having Julia join the incubator complicated things somewhat. In the slight chance that, despite my best efforts, Nora learned I was behind the sponsorship, she could accidentally mention it to Julia. Then, if my niece— perhaps not so accidentally— whispered it into the wrong ears, I could get kicked out, too. If that happened, I wouldn't get to offer this opportunity to anyone else. Future John Grier students and others like them would miss out on the exclusive invitation I could provide.

I didn't want my setup disrupted. My program had to go on, so students whose only barrier was not having the right connections could get the help they deserved, and so we together rebelled against the ultimate goal of the incubator. All I had to do was pay closer attention to it this year.

As for Nora… she could amplify the benefits from the program and take them far, despite Julia. Her ambitious business plan could go on to thrive. The pieces were already in motion. All I had to do was bear witness; read her emails, see the world through her eyes, and honor her journey.

When I wrote in my journal that night, most of it had to do with trying to process my motivations and goals for the near future. Without noticing, Nora's name was penned to paper more than once.