Capture
“He donated the sixty million.” She said this like the words tasted sour.
I stared at her for a very, very long time, and she stared back. Her eyes were greenish and she was watching me with avid interest, as though keenly interested in my reaction to this news.
Certain I’d misheard her or misunderstood, I finally asked, “I’m sorry, what? He donated sixty million dollars? To whom?”
“To a non-profit foundation, one which he established early last summer. It provides funding for startups that focus on training rural educators, both domestically and internationally in the use of the latest classroom technology and web interfaces.”
“I don’t understand. He sold the houses for, what? A hundred and twenty million?”
“More or less, yes.”
“And he donated half, and then invested the other half into the satellite project?”
“No. The donation and the investment are the same sixty million. He still has the other half—or thereabouts—in some offshore bank-account.”
“I’m confused. You just said that he invested in the satellite project.”
“No. He didn’t invest in anything. The foundation he established owns what would have been his share of the ‘satellite project’. He forfeited his profits. All the profits go to the foundation and will be used to purchase equipment for schools and students, and will fund initiatives to train teachers.”
I sucked in a slow breath, trying to wrap my mind around this story she was telling me. “So, he…what? He gave away sixty million dollars to a foundation he founded?”
“Yes.”
“So, the satellites will still be launched?”
“Yes.”
“But the foundation owns his share?”
“Yes.”
“And he’ll…receive no profits?”
“He’ll receive no profits. He’s given up billions of dollars and probably his only chance to get revenge on his father.”
I shook my head because I felt muddled. “Why would he do that? Why would he give it away?”
She smirked. I recognized it as her not-nice smirk. “Why do you think?”
I kept shaking my head. “I have no idea. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“For you. He did it for you.”
I stopped shaking my head; instead I made a very unflattering scoffing noise that sounded a bit like a gurgle. “What? No. No…did he say that? Did he tell you he was giving away sixty million dollars because of me?”
Her smirk fell away and she looked suddenly tired, older. “No. But he didn’t have to. We’d been planning this for three years. Then he meets you and everything changes. Of course you’re the reason.”
“No. That doesn’t make sense. We’re not together.”
“He wanted you back. That’s why he did it.”
“Did he say that he—”
“No. We never talk about shit like that. We’re not gal pals, we’re business partners. But I have a working brain and I saw him after you broke his heart. Then suddenly all his plans changed and he’s giving up his future because Joss Parker’s daughter filled his head with bullshit altruistic nonsense? Yeah…he wanted you back, at least he did then.”
I only half heard her tirade because I was lost in my own head. I started speaking, but honestly I’d forgotten she was in the room.
“We haven’t been together since March, and then it was only for a week. He never called me, never tried to contact me. Not until a week and a half ago, and he didn’t say anything about it. He hadn’t said anything to me about this. Nothing. If he did this for me, then he would have called or tried to get in touch.” My attention drifted back to Emma and I appealed to her simply because she was the only other person in the room. “Right? He would have called me and told me, if he wanted to get back together. He wouldn’t have waited for months. That’s not how Martin does things, that makes no sense…”
She shrugged, pursing her lips. “Well, I have no idea what he wants now. I mean, I believe he was seeing that intern from RER, Rural Educational Reform—that do-gooder think tank in Washington—another bleeding heart martyr type. But now I don’t know, since you’re here.”
I involuntarily winced at this news, confirming my suspicions he’d been seeing someone else. I felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room and my heart was being stabbed with a fork. I rubbed my chest, the spot over my heart.
“He’s…he’s seeing someone?” I had trouble not choking on the words.
“Yes. I don’t know how you missed it, they’ve been all over page six since August. They can’t cross the street in each other’s company without getting photographed. The problem is that they’re just so pretty together. Her family is like yours. You know, lots of impressive ancestors with impressively good deeds.” Emma’s eyes moved up then down my form before she added, “You don’t look anything like her, but he definitely has a type.”
“What does she look like?” I asked, my question spewed forth unchecked.
Emma rolled her eyes. “I don’t know, petite, really pretty, red hair, delicate. Who cares?”
It was the girl I’d seen earlier in the week in the pictures, when I’d made the mistake of googling Martin so I could read the interviews he and Sam kept talking about.
“Forgive me if I have no tolerance for gossiping and giving relationship advice to the person who stole my profits.”
“Your profits?” I asked lamely.
“Yes. My profits. I was to receive a percentage of his share. And so now you see it’s all gone. Instead he offers me a position at the goody-two-shoes foundation and a share of his third world broadcast rights.”
“His what what what? Broadcast rights?” I forced myself to re-focus on the conversation, the real issue, not who Martin had been dating…or had recently dated. Honestly, I was only able to re-center myself because Martin had point-blank texted me he didn’t have a girlfriend and I trusted him to tell me the truth.
Of course, that just meant he didn’t have one right now. But it didn’t mean he’d been celibate since we split. This thought made me queasy, more fork stabbing to the heart, so I pushed it from my mind.
Emma released a derisive snort. “Some crazy idea he has, and invested three million of his remaining monies.” She waved her hand through the air like his idea was a gnat and she was trying to swat it. “He purchased broadcast rights for basically all of the third world. He has a virtual monopoly on Internet streaming of syndicated shows for the next fifty years, as well as the big sites, like Netflix, Amazon, etcetera.” Then she added under her breath, “A lot of good it will do him since no one in those areas owns a computer and they can’t get Internet.”
I stared at a spot over her head as a picture arranged itself in my brain; unthinkingly, I spoke my stream of consciousness out loud. “Broadcast rights for the third world will never yield a profit…unless underserved areas can get cheap access to Internet. Or free access.”
“And are given computers,” she added unnecessarily.
My gaze flickered to hers, held it, and my mouth dropped open because Martin was a genius.
“You mean, if they are given computers by a goody-two-shoes foundation? And trained to use them, by the same foundation? A goody-two-shoes foundation that receives funds from the profits of satellites delivering cheap or free Internet to underserved areas?”
Her frown turned thoughtful, then startled, then amazed. “Oh my God.”
I nodded, grinning at his cleverness. “Hasn’t he discussed this with you? Don’t the two of you talk about anything?”
“No. I wouldn’t…I was so angry, I didn’t want to talk about it.”
“And you didn’t figure it out?”
“No.” She laughed a little, shook her head disbelievingly. “Martin always said you were smart, and he was right. I mean now that you point it out, everything is so obvious. I guess I was just so angry that he didn’t follow through with the original plan, plus that stupid foundation… Oh my God. We’re not going to make anything close to what we would have made if he’d directly invested in the satellite venture, and he’ll never be anywhere near as rich as his father, but wow. We might break a billion. Maybe two.”
“It might take a bit, but yeah. In about ten years, once the foundation does its thing and the satellites are buzzing around up there, giving people in rural Africa and the rainforests of Brazil high-speed Internet service, he’ll be the only one making money off streaming video in what used to be the third world.”
She looked at me and smiled. It was the first time I’d seen her smile since meeting her. Her eyes were bright with excitement and every bit of bitterness had melted away. It was almost a nice moment.
But then she had to ruin it by sighing happily and saying, “God, I love that man.”
***
Emma did stay for tea, and she was chatty. She also had a habit of tossing her long, perfect, wheat-colored hair over her shoulder in excess. It wouldn’t have irritated me so much if she weren’t so suddenly effusive about how much she admired Martin.