I think it's fair to say that Marcus has more than fulfilled that challenge. The question now is whether you're a man of your word. The crowd murmured agreement. Harrington was trapped by his own hubris, by the cameras recording everything, by the expectations of his peers.
Fine, Harrington said curtly. You win, Marcus. Which charity would you like the donation to go to? Marcus looked at his mother, then at Mrs. Chen, who had somehow made her way into the hall and was standing near the back, tears streaming down her weathered face.
Then he looked at Dr. Crawford, at the other people of color scattered throughout the audience, a small minority in this overwhelmingly white space. I don't want a donation, Marcus said. Everyone stared at him in confusion. You don't want $100,000 for charity? Harrington asked incredulously. No, sir. I want something else. Marcus took a deep breath.
I want you to teach me. The request landed like a bomb in the center of the elegant concert hall. For several long seconds, no one moved. No one spoke.
They simply stared at Marcus Williams, this fourteen-year-old boy who had just asked Vincent Harrington, one of the most celebrated pianists of his generation, to become his teacher. Harrington's expression cycled through disbelief, outrage, and something that might have been panicked before settling into cold amusement. Teach you, he repeated flatly. You want me to teach you?
Yes, sir. Do you have any idea what my time is worth? what my private students pay for the privilege of studying with me. Harrington's voice rose. I have exactly four private students at any given time, each carefully selected from hundreds of applicants.
They're all exceptional talents from prestigious music programs. They pay $50,000 per year for weekly lessons. And you want me to just take you on? You offered $100,000, Marcus said, his voice steady despite the trembling in his hands.
That's two years of lessons. I'll take those two years, and I promise you won't regret it. Absolutely not, Harrington said immediately. The money was supposed to go to charity, not to fund some fantasy where I transform you into what?
Dr. Crawford interrupted. Into the kind of musician you claim to value. Isn't that what teaching is supposed to be? Isn't that the entire purpose of the Harrington Foundation, to develop exceptional talent?
I develop talent that's already been properly cultivated, Harrington shot back. I'm not running a remedial program for, he caught himself, but not before the unfinished sentence hung in the air, its implications clear to everyone listening. For kids like me, Marcus finished quietly. That's what you were going to say, isn't it?
Harrington's face flushed. That's not what I meant. Then what did you mean? Catherine Worthington's voice cut through the tension.
Because from where I'm sitting, it sounds exactly like what you meant. Vincent, I've known you for fifteen years. I've donated millions to your foundation because I believed in its mission to preserve and promote classical music for future generations. But what you're demonstrating right now is that you only care about a very specific subset of future generations.