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Black Orphan Asked Millionaire for Help — He Laughed: "Play Violin, I'll Consider Adopting You"

Black Orphan Asked Millionaire for Help — He Laughed: "Play Violin, I'll Consider Adopting You"

Chapter 7

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Hartwell did not respond. The waiter, a young Black man named Devon, set the tray down on a side table and walked away without expression. He had been working Hartwell Foundation events for three years; he had stopped expecting eye contact in his first month.At Hartwell's table, his entourage was already seated: his second wife, Eleanor, twenty-six years younger, scrolling on her phone; his chief of staff, a man named Bradley Whiteman, thirty-two, on his third whiskey; two business partners from the bank; a real estate attorney; a retired senator.Bradley raised his glass. "To another year of saving the underprivileged, sir."Hartwell did not raise his glass; he sipped. "Bradley.""Sir?""Slow down on the whiskey.""Yes, sir.""You embarrass yourself, you embarrass me.""Understood, sir."Bradley smiled. He did not slow down on the whiskey; he understood the rule was not for events with photographers, and he had not yet seen a photographer in the room.Catherine Wilson appeared at the table: late sixties, white hair pinned back, old New York money—older than Hartwell's by two generations, and quieter about it. She co-chaired the gala because her late husband's foundation matched the Hartwell Foundation's pledge dollar for dollar."Charles, the youth honorees arrived. Six of them this year."Hartwell looked up from his menu. "The what?""The youth honorees from the sponsorship program. I asked them to attend in person this year. I thought it would be meaningful for the donors to meet them."A beat passed. Hartwell did not smile. "Catherine, we don't bring the applicants to the gala.""We do this year, Charles."
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Black Orphan Asked Millionaire for Help — He Laughed: "Play Violin, I'll Consider Adopting You"

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