Then again.
Then a text.
This is Victoria. Your receipt survived the rain.
Daniel stared.
His daughter noticed.
“Who’s Victoria?”
“Nobody.”
“You smiled.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
He put the phone away.
His daughter narrowed her eyes.
“Is she from work?”
“No.”
“School?”
“No.”
“Hospital?”
“No.”
“Girlfriend?”
Daniel nearly walked into a parked minivan.
“You’re nine.”
“That’s not no.”
“It is aggressively no.”
His daughter grinned.
At home, Daniel reheated spaghetti.
The utility notice remained in his folder.
He tried not to think about it.
His plant had cut overtime after losing a contract. His monthly margin had become almost nonexistent. He had canceled streaming services, delayed replacing two tires, and begun calculating grocery totals before reaching checkout.
Yet the automatic donation still left his account on the fifteenth.
His sister thought he was ridiculous.
Maybe he was.
After dinner, his daughter found the foundation receipt on the kitchen counter.
“You donated again?”
“Yes.”
“Thirty-five?”
“Yes.”
She looked toward him.
“We owe electric money.”
Daniel froze.
Children noticed everything adults hoped they missed.
“We’re okay.”
“That’s what you say when we’re not.”
Daniel sat beside her.
“We have enough.”
“You got the red paper.”
“It’s handled.”
It was not.
Not yet.
His daughter looked toward the receipt.
“Stop donating.”
Daniel stared.
She continued.
“They already helped me.”
“We don’t owe them forever.”
The sentence was reasonable.
He thought of his wife.
Twenty dollars a month.
A promise made after surgery.
“We don’t owe them.”
“Then why?”
“Because somebody else is having the worst week of their life right now.”
His daughter frowned.
“And thirty-five dollars helps?”
“Maybe.”
“What if we need it?”
Daniel smiled.
“We’ll adjust if we do.”
She was not satisfied.
Neither was he.
The phone buzzed again.
Victoria.
Did I interrupt something by texting?
Daniel typed.
My nine-year-old is auditing my finances.
Her reply came quickly.
I have fourteen trustees who do the same thing.
He smiled.
His daughter saw.
“Girlfriend.”
“Bed.”
She laughed and ran upstairs.
Daniel looked at the phone.
Then typed:
How did the vote go?
Delayed 30 days.
He stared.
Because of me?
Three dots appeared.
Because we didn’t have enough information. You made me notice that.
Daniel considered.
Then:
Good.
Victoria replied:
That is all I get?
What do you want?
Maybe congratulations.
Daniel smiled.
Congratulations on admitting a billionaire foundation does not know everything.
Long pause.
Then:
You really are terrible at flattery.
I warned you.