Gathering up the packages and putting them into the briefcase that he’d bought with him – another donation to the shelter - Steve placed the box back on the shelf and pocketed the key. He wasn’t quite ready to let the bank have the box back yet. He might need to bring the mystery packages back, depending on the contents. Then he left the bank and made the long walk back to the warehouse, instinctively trying to make himself stand out as little as possible although not realizing how unlikely that was. The suit gave him an air of sophistication that only made his lean frame and good looks seem even more appealing to the many women that passed him in the street. They didn’t bother to conceal their admiring glances, but Steve was so preoccupied that he didn’t even notice.
***
Reaching the warehouse, Steve headed round the back, moved the crates and pulled back the sheet of corrugated iron that hid the opening he’d found. Once he was inside he paused for a moment and listened. Good, it didn’t sound like anybody was here. He didn’t fancy having to answer Rosie’s questions about his outfit because she could always tell when he was lying.
Steve made his way up to the second floor where they’d built their shelters. Even though they could have just made up a bed, they’d both decided to make it their usual cardboard huts. It somehow made things seem safer. Not to mention it afforded them both some privacy, something which was very difficult to come by when homeless.
Steve popped his head into Rosie’s shelter just to make certain that she wasn’t there. Her bed lay empty and neatly made. Rosie still made her bed every single day. She said it was the one thing that was hers and she was damned if she was going to let it look like a mess. Steve smiled to himself. He loved Rosie very deeply. She’d been like a mom to him. In truth, she’d been so much better than his actual mom had. He knew that he probably wouldn’t have survived on the streets without her. He owed her his life.
He decided to change out of his suit quickly before opening the packages, just in case Rosie came back unexpectedly. Once changed, he settled on his bed with the three packages in front of him. He reached under his pillow for the knife that he kept there and sliced open the tape, taking care to avoid the wrapping underneath. Finally, Steve unwrapped yet another layer of plastic and revealed the contents.
He couldn’t believe his eyes and wondered if the other bags were the same. He made short work of opening the two remaining packages, both of which revealed the same thing: money.
He quickly counted the bills. Altogether it came to $500,000.
Shit, what was he supposed to do now? Had the man meant for him to keep the money? Was this what the gang was after? So many thoughts ran through his mind that Steve couldn’t keep track of them all. This money could change his life, but could he keep it?
If he handed it over to the police it would bring up a whole bunch of questions. Realizing that that would only end with him in a prison cell or worse, Steve was quick to dismiss that idea.
He tried to envision the dead man with a family. What if he had had kids? If Steve didn’t pass the money on to them, would they end up like him – living on the streets? But surely, if that was the case, the man would have asked him to find his family. He wouldn’t have spent his last moments thanking Steve and finding the key for him, would he?
Besides, who keeps $500,000 in a safety deposit box and ends up shot by a gang in a dark alley in Camden? Surely nobody who had earned the money in an innocent manner.
Would the gang be watching the man’s house? If Steve managed to find out who he was and where he lived would the gang be waiting for him? They’d surely learn what had happened to the man and whether or not he’d had the key on him. His family would be the first place they would look. No, taking it there would not be a good idea.
Could he keep the money? Move away from the neighborhood? Finally, live the life that he deserved? Possibly even start a business or invest it? What would he do with his life if money wasn’t an issue?
So many nights he’d found himself dreaming that he was somewhere else, lying on a soft bed instead of the hard ground and driving an expensive car to his office every day. Was this the chance that he needed?
Despite never having the money to do so, he’d read everything he could find on making investments. As someone who had to fight for every penny he earned, he found the stock markets fascinating. Imagine just being able to make money appear more or less out of nothing. Even though he understood how it worked, the process still seemed a little like magic to him. But, after all that reading, he thought that he had a pretty good idea of where to start in order to, hopefully, make himself some more money.
Steve looked over at Rosie’s bed and instantly knew what he had to do. This wasn’t just about him. The money would also help get Rosie off the street, and they could go live somewhere together. She’d no longer have to sleep on layers of cardboard that did nothing to ease her arthritis. She could have as many candy bars as she wanted – and the dental insurance to care of the consequences. Steve could almost jump up and down as the excitement bubbled up through him. He’d wait for Rosie to get back and then they’d leave Camden for good.
Chapter 3
Straightening his tie and smoothing back his hair, Steve took one last glance in the mirror to make sure everything was perfect. Today was a big a day. After three years of hard work, he had broken into the ranks of the billionaires.
It was difficult to believe that it had only been three years since he’d been living out on the streets, so much had happened since then. He’d invested that $500,000 wisely and opened his own small brokerage, and everything had just grown from there. Now he found himself with offices around the world, literal billions in the bank, and just about everything else he’d ever wanted.
A car was on its way to pick him up and take him to the most exclusive restaurant in Philadelphia, where he’d be spending the evening dining with some of his closest friends and even a few business rivals.
Hearing the phone ring, Steve made his way to the bedroom and picked it up. “Yes? Excellent. Thank you, Donovan. Could you let him know that I’ll be down shortly?”
Good, his chauffeur had arrived. Taking his tailor-made jacket off its hanger and slipping it over his shoulders, Steve let his eyes linger for a moment on the photograph of Rosie that he kept by his bed.
It was funny, even after all this time he still liked to make sure that she was there as soon as he woke up. He wished that she was here now to enjoy this moment with him. He would be forever grateful for the fact that he’d managed to persuade her to come with him and that he’d been able to provide for her in her final few years. She’d loved him coming home from a hard day and telling her everything that he’d achieved. And he’d loved seeing her face light up as he handed her the candy bar that he’d stopped off for on the way home.
He remembered the day that he’d made his first million, how they’d both just sat on the rooftop of the apartment they shared, looking up at the stars.
“Always remember, Steve, how small we are compared to all that’s up above,” she’d said as she swept her arm across the huge expanse of sky. “I’m so proud of you sweetheart. You know that I am and that I always will be, but I worry that when I’m gone you’ll forget where you started. That with all the parties and the cars and the money you’ll forget what it was like to have nothing and yet still have so much.” She’d turned to him, an earnest look in her eyes and grasped his hand. “Promise me you won’t forget, Steve. Promise me that you’ll remember the life and the people that we left behind and that you’ll find some way to help them?”
He lightly ran his finger over the top of the picture frame.
“I’ll keep my promise to you, Rosie. I’ll try and find some way to help the people back in Camden.”
***
The next morning, Steve lay in bed with what he was sure was the world’s worst hangover. He couldn’t even remember how much he’d had to drink last night but he could tell by the state of his head that it w
as a lot. Managing to just about open one eye, he was pleased to see that the maid had been in and had left him a tray of breakfast, along with his favorite freshly squeezed orange juice and this morning’s paper.
No matter how bad he was feeling he always made sure that he read the New York Times every morning. He liked the ritual of it. Plus, it kept him up to date on what was happening, not only in the world but in business as well. There had been many times when he’d gone to the office with an idea that he’d formed based on something that he’d read earlier that morning and, luckily, most of the time that idea had paid off.
Flicking through the pages, there was one article that caught his eye. A youth center in New Jersey that had been set up two years ago to help keep the kids away from gangs and drugs was now being forced to close due to a lack of funding.
Buried beneath his many blankets, Steve stared down at the black and white newsprint. Could this be the opportunity that he’d been looking for? The chance to give something back to his old community? Even without Rosie’s words in his mind, he’d always felt guilty about the way he’d managed to leave the neighborhood.
He was under no illusion about where the money he’d gotten had come from. It was no doubt something to do with drugs, possibly even illegal arms. He also knew that if he was ever going to ease his guilt then he needed to find some way to use that money to help the people he’d left behind. Maybe this was it? He could donate the money that the center needed to remain open and help keep the next generation of kids off the streets.
Ignoring his throbbing head and puffy eyes, Steve downed the last of his orange juice along with the two extra strength Aspirins the maid had been thoughtful enough to leave him. Fumbling on the bedside table, he pulled the landline’s receiver to him, dialing Donovan.
“Yes, hello, Donovan. I’ll need the car in about half an hour. I have to go to Camden. Yes, that Camden. The one in New Jersey.” Steve smiled to hear his butler’s baffled response. “Thank you, Donovan.”
Easing himself out of bed, Steve made for the shower, groaning as the hot water thundered around him, massaging his aching body. Now that he’d hit thirty, his body just wasn’t handling his hangovers like it used to. Giving himself a quick soap to dissipate any lingering alcohol fumes, he rinsed himself off and wrapped a towel around his hips, looking forward to brushing the fuzziness out of his mouth.
His teeth clean, he headed for his enormous walk-in closet. Gone were the days when he had to wear whatever had been donated to the homeless shelter. Now he wore bespoke suits in any and every color and style that took his fancy. Choosing a modest blue three piece suit and crisp white shirt, he tossed the towel aside and got dressed. The suit’s freshly-pressed smell made him feel much more like his usual dapper self.
Steve made it to the lobby of his Philadelphia apartment building just as his driver pulled up. Steve assessed his reflection in the shiny black door of the SUV. Satisfied, he slid into the beige leather interior, pinching his temples as his hangover once more made itself known. Pulling a bottle of cold water from the built-in mini fridge, Steve kept himself hydrated as the car sailed across the river, out of safe neighborhoods and into dangerous streets that he once called his home.
His driver looked very unimpressed as they pulled up in front of the Second Chance Youth Center, his gray eyebrows rising towards his receding hairline. “This is the address you requested, sir,” he said, his doubts clear in his tone.
“Yes. Excellent. Thanks. This shouldn’t take long, if you want to just park around the side,” Steve instructed as he exited the car. The driver nodded, but he didn’t look thrilled by the prospect of sitting around in Camden in a very expensive car, no matter how short the length of time.
His stride not quite as brisk and energetic as usual, Steve made his way into the center.
Inside, he found mayhem. People were busy packing boxes, shredding paperwork, and shouting questions and answers at each other. No one seemed to notice his arrival.
Steve cast around for someone who looked to be in charge but saw nothing but pandemonium. Shrugging, he tapped the nearest person – a young redhead with three eyebrow piercings – on the shoulder.
“Can I help you?” she asked, giving his expensive suit and healthy appearance a disdainful once-over.
“I’d like to talk to the person in charge,” said Steve. “About a donation,” he continued, to make sure that he didn’t get sent away again with some excuse. Most people, he’d learned, found the promise of money difficult to turn down.
“Well, your timing could be better,” said the girl, maintaining her disdain. “You want Selena. Go down the hall and her office is the third door on the right,” the redhead gestured to the hall at the far side of the chaos.
“Thanks,” said Steve. He smiled, but the girl had already turned back to her packing. With a shrug, Steve began picking his way across the lobby.
The hall was quieter and Steve massaged his throbbing temples. In retrospect, maybe he should have waited until this afternoon before coming down here. But Steve could never hold back his excitement. When an idea took him, he had to run with it right away.
As instructed, he knocked on the third door on the right, which bore a nameplate reading Selena Moreno, Director. Whatever he had been expecting from the director of the help center, the beautiful Puerto Rican that opened the door was certainly not it. Tall and slender, Selena had long, lustrous brown hair and honey colored skin. Her large, hazel eyes looked up at Steve through thick lashes. And Steve made a concerted effort to keep his eyes on hers instead of letting them wander along her long legs and perfect curves. Her clingy red tank top and equally tight skinny jeans were not helping the cause.
“Yes?” Selena asked, crossing her arms over her chest and raising an eyebrow. Her body language made it clear that she didn’t have time for him.
“Uh…I…” Steve swallowed and collected his thoughts. “I’d like to make a donation.”
Chapter 4
It was the center’s last week and Selena had a list as long as her leg of things to do before they closed their doors for good. So when there was an unexpected knock on her office she was not exactly pleased. Opening the door, she found herself looking at a handsome, well-dressed man. His dark, tightly-curled hair was stylishly cut and his expensive-looking and perfectly tailored suit accentuated his trim, muscular body. His dark eyes widened at the sight of her – she had that effect on unprepared men – and she fought to keep her own eyes from rolling. Who was this Philly asshole? Some politician in search of a publicity boost? She sighed mentally. Just what she needed: another fair-weather donor. Well, she told herself, least he was easy on the eyes.
“Yes?” she asked brusquely when he said nothing.
“Uh…I…” the man swallowed, clearly caught off guard. “I’d like to make a donation.”
Selena laughed. “You’re a bit late, buddy,” she told him. “Thanks, but we’re already sunk.” Hoping that would be that, she took hold of the doorknob, her thoughts already back on her mountain of paperwork.
“Wait,” said the man, putting a hand on the door to keep her from closing it. “I know this is totally eleventh hour, but I only just heard about this place this morning. Like, two hours ago.”
“And what? You drove straight here?” Selena asked skeptically.
“Pretty much,” the stranger replied. “I don’t want this place to close. I want to donate $50,000 to keep it running.”
Selena laughed again. “That might sound generous to you, but, to be perfectly frank, that’s barely enough to cover all the repairs this place needs, never mind rent and staff salaries and supplies. Like I said: thanks, but you’re too late.”
“Wait, please,” said the man. “Can we just talk about this for a second? I really do want to help.”
Selena sighed. Clearly, she wasn’t going to get out of this so easily. “Okay, fine. Come into my office. Or what’s left of it at least. What’s your name anyway?”
&n
bsp; “Steve,” said the stranger, pulling a business card out of his wallet. “Steve Jackson.”
“Well, Steve, I’m Selena, as I’m sure you already know.” She tucked the business card into her pocket with little more than a cursory glance and bent to pick a stack of files off a chair. She heaved them onto her already full desk and gestured for Steve to sit. As he did, she leaned against her desk, running a nail along the loosening trim of the plywood edge.
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