Page 39 of Daddy's Game

“But I’m asking for charity.”

“Not for you, personally. For your performing arts center. I know this might seem incongruous or even counter intuitive, but you need to look your best when meeting with potential benefactors.”

“Why?”

“Because, you want them to be reassured that you know how to handle their money. They don't expect any of it back, but they DO expect results. They want to donate not for tax shelter purposes, but because they genuinely want to feel like they’re doing good in the world. You’d be surprised how many millionaires and billionaires struggle with feelings of wealth guilt.”

“Not you, though, right?”

I chuckled and stroked my finger down her smooth cheek. Her eyes almost closed, and she leaned in toward me.

“No, not me. I know I earned my money, and I do plenty to make the world a better place than I found it. I don’t always succeed, but I do put in the effort.”

Grace looked down at herself again. I could tell she was swaying, about to cave in.

“Are you sure this is the right move? I always thought appealing to their humanity was better than trying to look slick.”

“By slick, you mean professional. And there’s nothing wrong with that. These people don’t want to donate to a charity that’s going under next month. They want to believe their money will go a long way to making the world a better place.”

“They also don’t want to donate to a place where the manager is bilking them for fancy clothes.”

I took a step back and regarded her.

“You really need to start trusting me, Grace. There are signs of someone doing what you just described. You’re not draped in jewelry, you’re not driving a brand new sports car, and the only international trips you’ve taken have been at my behest. Credit where credit is due. Now, are you going to be a good girl and stop arguing with me? We have appointments to keep.”

She winced a bit, but then something that may have been the ghost of a smile played at her red lips.

“Okay, I trust you. On this, at any rate.”

I knew what she meant even though she didn’t come out and say it. Grace still worried I was going to buy her land out from underneath her. I still had the goal of acquiring the corner lot…but I hadn’t really made any moves on that front in some time. Not since our trip to Paris, when everything had changed.

The limo ride to the first appointment proved harrowing for Grace. She fidgeted nervously and kept looking out the window as if wishing she were somewhere else. Still, she listened when I told her what to expect from our first targets.

“The Mannings are a well-respected couple in the community. They’ve been together for fifty years, and in that time they’ve secured a sixty percent market share of the atm machines in New York state.”

“That’s all they have?”

“Of course not, they have other investments, but think about how many machines there are in Manhattan alone. If a thousand people per day use one of their machines and they collect three dollars each time, then that’s three thousand dollars of income for just one location, for just one day.”

Her eyes widened.

“Okay, so they’re loaded.”

“And getting on in years, so they want to feel like they’ve left a positive legacy behind. Prime candidates for our purposes. Plus, I’ve golfed with Frank Manning before.”

We visited the Mannings at their estate just outside of the city, tucked into a pristine gated community. She was noticeably nervous the entire time, but Grace conducted herself with poise. I don’t know if she noticed or not, but her clothing gained subtle approval from both the Mannings.

When we left, it was with a six million dollar pledge in hand. Grace was beside herself.

“This is enough for the insurance, and then some. How did you do it?”

“I didn’t do anything but make the introductions and give you nicer clothes. This is your accomplishment, Grace. Go ahead and soak it in.”

She gave me a smile, and my heart lifted. I really felt like she could brighten a room with her smile, or in this case, the back of my limo.

The next two visits were just as successful as the first. By the third time Grace had her pitch down, though I wished she would relax more. She sat stiff as a board, and while she came across as professional I knew her well enough by that point to understand just how nervous she really was.

Sure enough, she grimaced and rubbed her neck on the limo ride back to my place. Grace had not managed her stress well.

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