CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
(Matt)
Charlotte wanted to marry me.
That was something I’d never seen coming.
Charlotte, who’d jumped on a plane to geographically flee the concept of being loved by another person, had been disappointed by the fact that I hadn’t proposed at that dinner. Weeks later, that night still stunned me.
Neither of us had brought it up again, but now that the seal had been broken on our mutual agreement to someday, in the far-off future, apply legally binding commitment to our love, it loomed over us.
I felt it in the tension of looking for new his-and-her sinks for the apartment—the ones we currently had were “too splashy” when she washed her face—and in every invitation to a social function addressed to “Mr. Matthew Ashe and Guest.” We both knew where we were headed.
Now, it felt like we were delaying the journey.
On the other hand, my reunion with my sister had resulted in some unexpected business that I wanted to tend to before leaping into anything as time consuming as wedding planning.
And this was a delicate operation that required a little bit of sneaking around on my part; not the opportune moment to propose to someone.
I didn’t like withholding things from Charlotte. I wanted to be totally open and honest about everything. And I would be.
Just not yet.
I sifted through the papers on my sister’s huge desk. My eyes nearly crossed. “There’s really this much red tape?”
“No, Matthew. I enjoy overcomplicating things as much as possible. I detest directness or ease of any kind.” Catherine stood with her arms crossed, looking down at me the way she would some kind of disgusting insect.
Strengthening our relationship was a marathon, not a sprint, apparently.
But what she was doing for me now? Was a big step toward trust building. “Are you sure we have to start with New York? I have enough money to—”
“Yes, I know all about your money.” She waved a hand in annoyance. “I still can’t believe you didn’t know your own net worth.”
“I looked it up online,” I protested for the seventieth time.
And, like all the other times, Catherine rolled her eyes and said, “An estimate. You looked up an estimate.”
By this point, it was sounding less like a pterodactyl screech.
“Your huge amount of money is the problem. Not running out of it, though I feel like that could be a real possibility if you keep trying to pay off every medical bill in the state of New York—”
“Not every medical bill,” I protested. “Just for the uninsured patients.”
“You have to pace yourself. If you spend everything in one year, you’ll help people during that year. But if you’re careful, and you build this, you could keep helping people far into the future. It could be a legacy.”
I wouldn’t respond to another repeat scolding with repetition of my own.
Catherine was willing to help me establish the foundation, but she hadn’t let go of the billionaire mindset of scarcity, yet.
I hoped she would get there, but I suspected her helping me was less out of a sense of charity and more out of a love of being in charge of moving money around under the guise of philanthropy.
It was the figures on the bank statements she loved and seeing them go down would terrify her.
But Charlotte had shown me the math on the subject. Even if I somehow spent all of my liquid assets in a single day, I would never be broke or poor. I owned too much property; my company was too profitable. I would still be able to afford my current lifestyle. I didn’t need most of the money I had.
So, why couldn’t the other billionaires share? Not raise money at lavish fundraisers that cost more than they raised. Not write a check for a million dollars and immediately call a publicist about it. Why couldn’t they fucking share?
Being furious wouldn’t help me focus on the task at hand. I pushed it aside for a later bitchfest with Charlotte. She was incredibly generous with me as I learned things she and almost every other person on the planet already knew about my wealth.
“Besides,” Catherine went on. “We already talked about how it would look to the IRS if you suddenly poured all of this money into a foundation that only became established this week. Even though you’re doing things by the book, you’re undermining the medical, insurance, and pharmaceutical industries.
They’ll lobby for a congressional hearing so fast, your head will spin completely off your neck. ”
“Fine. Put me in front of congress. Give me a national platform to call out this bullshit.” My neck tensed up.
Catherine sat in her chair and leaned toward me, elbows on the blotter. “You’re going to make powerful enemies.”
“Why?” I demanded. “I’ll be buying all these pills. Pharma will get their cash. I’ll be employing doctors and nurses and all the people you need to run a medical facility.”
“Because you’re not doing it for profit. That’s what they’ll object to.” Her expression softened and she leaned back. “You care about people, and you want to fix the world. But you don’t understand the world and how it works enough to change it without ruining yourself, financially and personally.”
I grumbled my reluctant agreement.
Catherine studied my face for a long moment, then pronounced her judgement. “She’s changed you, you know.”
“Not that much.” I didn’t like change, especially after this, my year of upheaval. “Charlotte’s been a good influence on me. She hasn’t changed me.”
“It’s not a bad thing,” Catherine defended herself. Or Charlotte. Maybe both of them. “You needed something to snap you out of whatever the hell you’ve been doing all these years. The sex resorts and serial engagements. And your weird obsession with cosplaying as a regular middle-class Joe.”
“Cosplaying suggests a costume,” I corrected her. “Even Branson wears cargo shorts sometimes.”
“If Branson jumped off a bridge, would you?” she asked, and I swore I heard our mother’s voice come out of her mouth.
“You’re different now. As much as I hate the inappropriate and weird age gap thing, Charlotte is good for you in a way none of your past partners ever have been.
And yes, your sudden turn toward philanthropy has given me a lot of extra work to do—”
“Thank you, by the way,” I interrupted.
She didn’t acknowledge it, probably because I’d already thanked her so profusely that she was becoming annoyed. “—but I would rather it be this and her than you and an endless string of embarrassing broken engagements. What does she think about all of this?”
I hesitated.
“Does she not know about this?” Catherine tilted her head. “Far be it from me to tell you how to handle your finances with regard to your partner, but if the man I was dating was about to sink billions of dollars into a childhood epilepsy foundation, I would want to know about it.”
“She isn’t going to be angry, if that’s what you’re thinking.” On the contrary, Charlotte would be over the moon when she found out about it. But that’s why I hadn’t told her yet. “I’ll tell her when it’s official.”
“It’ll be official today,” Catherine reminded me.
“And I’ll tell her as soon as it is. I didn’t want to tell her my big idea and have her think it was all talk. I had no idea how quickly this could be accomplished. I’d imagined years and years of these kinds of meetings, real estate hassles, clearances—”
“It will be at least one year before everything is running,” Catherine interjected. “Don’t get too far ahead of yourself. I know how impatient you are.”
“Thanks, your approval means a lot,” I muttered. “For what it’s worth, Scott has changed you, too.”
“Oh, I’m aware.” She didn’t sound thrilled about it. “I’ve learned what limited closet space is. What it’s like to eat at restaurants that have prices on the menu.”
“You’re truly impoverished.” I rolled my eyes at her.
“I’m not going to be baited into a discussion about poverty and financial hardship,” she said firmly. “Obviously, I’m aware of my immense privilege, even if it doesn’t come with a yacht. But I’m glad you see me as a changed person.”
“Not entirely changed,” I amended.
She ignored me again. “What you’re doing here is amazing. I want you to know that I mean that, despite how my face generally presents itself and how my tone sounds. I would have never imagined that you’d want to do something like this.”
“You’ve been involved in charity stuff for years,” I pointed out.
“I didn’t say I couldn’t imagine anyone else wanting to do it.
Unfortunately, those who have the means to create a project of this scale often won’t, and those who don’t have the means are the ones who most want to do it.
I never thought you’d do it. And if I had, I would have assumed your cause would be something superficially about climate change. ”
“Hey, I put my money where my mouth is on that one,” I argued.
She shook her head. “You tell yourself that you do. But do you think not having a private jet is enough to keep the polar ice caps from melting? If they haven’t already.”
“They’re close.”
She tapped one of the many manilla folders on the desk. “But this is real. This is actual change. And you’re doing it without selling seats at a dinner for ten thousand a head when the person buying the plate is worth twenty billion. I’m trying to say that I admire you, Matthew.”
If anything could stun me into silence, it would be my sister expressing anything other than abject hatred for me.
“What happened to us, Catherine?” I mused.
With the change of subject came a change in Catherine. Her spine stiffened, her chin lifted, and there was none of the faint warmth that she’d displayed seconds ago.
“We didn’t have a falling out,” I went on. “We used to like each other. We would play and—”