Elizabeth Lennox

The Billionaire's Masquerade Introduction

The Billionaire's Masquerade small

Rachel’s Story…

Rachel walked into the classroom, her head down and her eyes focused only on the next linoleum square in front of her. Meeting anyone’s eyes could be painful, so she had learned to focus only on the tips of her sneakers, trying to hide her big toe when it popped out of the hole in the top.

She had almost made it to her desk when the harsh words reached her. “What color is your dad today?” Danny Mildrif asked with a sneer.

Rachel pulled her arms closer to her body, hugging her books as she slunk down into the first seat in the classroom. She hated the cruel snickers that followed Danny’s comment and prayed that the teacher would start class soon.

“Good morning everyone,” Ms. Waldrus said as she stood in front of the classroom.

Rachel was relieved that Ms. Waldrus was now in charge and no one could say anything more about her father’s job. He was a painter. Not of beautiful works of art but of houses and walls. Being in a small town and the daughter of a manual laborer came with significant drawbacks. An empty stomach being one of them, she thought miserably. They’d run out of milk two days ago, so she’d had dry oatmeal for breakfast. No money for brown sugar or raisins this month to sweeten the oats.

The teacher called out her name and she looked up, relieved when she discovered that Ms. Waldrus was only handing out the math tests everyone took the previous day. “Good job, Rachel,” she said kindly as she handed back the paper.

Rachel’s heart swelled with pride as she looked at the A+ at the top of her paper. She’d even gotten the bonus questions right! The perfect score helped her forget the ache in her stomach as well as her heart. At least for a few minutes.

Thankfully, the rest of the morning was relatively easy for her and the other kids mostly ignored her. She loved school – thought it was a wonderful, magical place where exciting things happened. It was also the one place she knew she could get a warm meal. Her parents made so little money, she qualified for the free lunches at the school. It was embarrassing, but she didn’t really care anymore. Usually, she was too hungry to care about the derision of the other students, all of whom knew she received a free meal.

The following day, Rachel was working on her in-class essay when there was a commotion to her left. She looked up and noticed the principal standing in the doorway with another girl. The principal was whispering something to Ms. Waldrus, who was nodding her head with a grim expression in her eyes.

When the principal walked away, Ms. Waldrus turned to the rest of the class. “Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to our newest class-mate. Her name is Nikki and she just arrived from…” she looked down at the girl, “Where are you from?”

“We lived in Front Royal,” Nikki whispered.

Rachel noticed a sparkle of tears form in the girl’s eyes. There was something about Nikki that tore at Rachel’s heart. The sweater was definitely not new and there was a tear in her jeans. Rachel also suspected that the shoes the girl was wearing were too big because her feet looked out of proportion to her body.

Rachel looked down at her paper again while the other girl walked to one of the seats in the back of the classroom. But no matter how hard Rachel tried to concentrate, she just couldn’t get the other girl off of her mind.

As the class lined up for lunch that day, Rachel followed her normal routine of waiting until the line had formed. The other students thought it was hilarious to step on the backs of her shoes and cause the rubber soles to come loose. She’d glued her shoes together so many times that the rubber was now cracking. And every time someone stepped on them again, the sole pulled away from the fabric top a bit more, making the repair process more difficult.

“Jerks,” Rachel heard as she pushed her notebook into her desk. Rachel looked behind her and saw the new girl standing back from the crowd lining up, tears starting to form in her eyes again.

She stood up and tentatively walked over to the girl. She stood there for several moments, trying to work her courage up to speak to the new girl. Rachel was wary of rejection. Being the poorest kid in class caused one to be at the bottom of the socioeconomic barrel.

“Are you new to the area?” Rachel finally said as the rest of the students started walking down the hallway towards the school cafeteria.

The new girl gave Rachel a withering glance. But for some reason, Rachel understood that this new girl, Nikki, was more frightened than she was. It was a shocking realization and gave her courage.

“You’re right. They’re all jerks,” Rachel stated firmly as they moved towards the door. “If you just ignore them, the teasing isn’t so bad.”

There was a softening around the new girl’s eyes, but she didn’t say anything. Rachel sighed, wishing the new girl might realize that her comments were a cry for friendship, but then again, why would anyone want to be friends with her? She couldn’t even take off her well-used sweatshirt because there was a tear in the sleeve of her shirt that she hadn’t had time to fix yet.

When she had her food, her stomach growling as the delicious smells of the lunch room filled her head, Rachel waited and watched the new girl. Nikki looked just as terrified as Rachel felt. Holding her tray awkwardly, she waited for Nikki to put in the code for her lunch. No money was exchanged anymore. All school transactions were done through a number code. When Rachel watched Nikki put in the “free lunch” code, Rachel’s eyes widened.

But all she received was a glare in return.

Rachel smiled, relieved to finally find a kindred spirit. “One-six-three-nine,” she repeated, a soft-spoken recitation of the free lunch code.

Nikki’s eyes softened even more. “Where do you usually sit?” the girl finally spoke.

Rachel’s smile brightened even more. “I tend to sit over there, away from the others.”

Nikki looked over at the dark corner of the school cafeteria and nodded. “I guess it would be harder for them to flick their peas at us from that distance, huh?”

Rachel laughed softly but nodded her head. “Yeah. They need pretty good aim to reach us over there.”

The two girls sat down at the table. Rachel nervously opened her milk carton and drank it all down before taking a deep breath when she was finished. When she realized what she’d done, she looked at Nikki nervously. “Just thirsty,” Rachel explained, then lowered her eyes to her food. The other kids scoffed at the school lunches, always talking about how disgusting they were. But Rachel was too hungry to be picky about her food. Not to mention, Rachel desperately wanted to have the soft, white bread sandwiches the other kids routinely brought to school. They always had delicious smelling meat and cheese in between that soft bread too. Things like ham and cheese or turkey lunch meat with bright vegetables poking out the sides. Rachel stared greedily at the glob of mashed potatoes and baked chicken. It might not sound good to the others, but she was so hungry by the time lunch arrived, anything tasted delicious.

“So what’s your story?” Nikki demanded.

Rachel glanced up from her plate, surprised to find that the other girl was inhaling her food just as quickly as she was.

Rachel put her fork down, worried about admitting anything to what might be her first friend since her early elementary grades. As soon as the other kids started understanding poverty versus wealth, Rachel’s friends had, one by one, turned away.

Her appetite now gone, she shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t really have a story.”

The new girl’s eyes told her she understood. “You’re poor. Just like me.” The girl’s chin went up. “We don’t have to be scared though.”

Rachel’s eyes snapped up from the book she’d pulled open. “I’m not scared,” she asserted firmly.

Nikki gauged Rachel’s reaction and a slow smile formed on her face. “Neither am I,” she agreed. “How about if we not-be-scared together?” she suggested.

Rachel heard the quiver on the girl’s voice and her heart broke. “I think that would be really nice.”

Rachel walked home from the bus stop that evening with a spring in her step. The world seemed rosier now that she wasn’t completely ostracized from the rest of her classmates. She looked at her house, the small, two bedroom home where she slept and dreamed about escaping. It didn’t look so dingy today. Sure, the concrete was still cracked on the front stoop, the grass wasn’t mowed because her father could barely afford gas for the car, much less anything to fuel the lawn mower. And she knew that the whole area would look wonderful if a dog were barking in the yard to greet her home. But they couldn’t afford food for themselves sometimes, so there was no question about bringing a pet into the house.

“Hi mom,” she said, dumping her books on the sofa. “Where’s dad?” she asked, peering into the pot that was simmering on the stove. Soup. Again! She sighed and turned her back on the stove, wondering what it would be like to have a warm loaf of bread with melting butter to go along with that soup. Or maybe even some roasted chicken instead of lentils and carrots. She bit the inside of her cheek, not wanting to say anything to her mother. What was the point? They didn’t have the money for soup with meat in it, so why ask?

“Your dad is working. He’ll be home late,” she explained, her hands red and raw from cleaning someone else’s house. “How was school today?”

Rachel shrugged her shoulders. “It was okay, I guess.” She thought about telling her mother about Nikki, but was afraid to jinx her newfound friendship. “I’m going to do my homework.”

Rachel walked into her bedroom and laid down on the lumpy mattress. Staring up at the ceiling, she thought about all the things she wanted to have when she got older. She’d never eat soup, she promised herself. Stews were fine because they had meat in them, but never soup. She hated soup. She hated hand-me-down clothes and she hated sneakers.

That was another thing she’d have when she grew up. She’d have beautiful clothes with a hundred pairs of shoes. She’d wear her shoes once, then toss them into the trash. She was going to make so much money, she’d never have to wear the same pair of shoes twice!

She groaned when she toed off her sneakers, hearing the plop and the smack as the rubber sole fell off. She’d have to glue that back on before dinner so it had time to dry overnight, she thought.

Rachel pulled her math homework out of her bag, determined to get another perfect score on her next test. That was one thing no one was better at than she was. She was the top student in her class and they could all just hate her for getting better grades. She smacked her book open and went through tonight’s homework, then skimmed through the next two chapters, just so she could answer the teacher’s questions if called upon during class. The other students might make fun of her torn up, faded clothes, but she was smarter and faster than all of them!

The following day at school, Rachel ignored the hunger pains ripping through her stomach as she walked into the classroom. They were out of oatmeal today so she’d gotten a piece of toast. Her mother had tried desperately hard to make a joke of the fact that they didn’t have any peanut butter or even butter to go on the toast, but Rachel saw the angry look in her father’s eyes. Someone hadn’t paid him again. It happened so often, it was a wonder her father didn’t change jobs.

Her eyes hungrily searched for her new friend and her heart sank when she spotted Nikki in the corner. She wasn’t alone today and Rachel knew what that meant. Nikki had found a new, better friend. Probably someone with more money.

She was just about to slide into her chair when Nikki walked over, the other girl in tow. “Rachel, are you okay?” Nikki asked cautiously, glancing behind her to make sure none of the other students could hear their conversation.

Rachel smiled wanly. “Yeah. I’m fine. How are you doing? Did you understand the math homework?” she asked, knowing that Nikki had struggled during yesterday’s math lesson.

Nikki smiled and shook her head. “Not at all. I was hoping you might help me during recess today,” she said, and Rachel instantly saw the vulnerability in the other girl’s eyes.

Her heart lifted ever so slightly. “I’d be happy to help you,” Rachel replied, a smile brightening her cheeks and she sat up a bit more in her chair.

“Great!” Nikki replied. “Remember that secret I told you yesterday?” Nikki asked, leaning forward so no one else could hear them.

Rachel’s heart melted for the other girl who had lost her parents a year ago. Nikki’s parents had died, leaving her an orphan and she’d just been transferred to a new foster home, which was why she was going to school here now. “Of course. And I didn’t tell anyone. Not even my mother.”

Nikki looked into Rachel’s eyes, then nodded as if she could see the truth. “Good. Because this is Brianna,” she said, pulling the shy, pretty girl forward. “And she came to my home last night.”

“It’s very nice to meet you Brianna,” Rachel said, smiling to the other girl who looked like she wanted to hide in the shadows.

“Hi,” was all Brianna said, hugging her books closer to her skinny chest.

Nikki nodded firmly as she turned back to Brianna. “See? I told you she was nice.”

The other students started filing into the classroom at that moment and Rachel felt like her world was glowing with happiness. Two new friends? How lucky could a person get?

The teacher started class at that moment and Nikki pulled Brianna to the back of the classroom where there was another empty seat. Rachel wished she could go back there as well, but she also didn’t want to lose her front row seat. School was her ticket out of poverty, she reminded herself. She wasn’t going to be poor forever. Someday, she was going to be rich! She was going to be so rich she wouldn’t ever have to eat soup, glue her shoes back together or sew her clothes. In fact, she’d never wear any clothes that weren’t brand new! And she’d never buy anything on sale.

Six Years Later….

Rachel grabbed her purse and rushed out the door. School started in less than a half hour and she had to get to the library first. There was a book about long term investing that the librarian had promised to save for her. She’d spoken to her guidance counselor last week and they’d come up with a plan. Rachel was going to be a stock broker! Just saying the words sent an excited thrill through her whole body. She’d invest her money in the stock market and watch it grow overnight! She couldn’t believe that such a job existed! It was like magic. Why wasn’t everyone doing this?

She looked at her bank balance in her check book. With the three jobs she was currently working, plus her babysitting money minus money for gas, she figured she had two thousand, three hundred dollars in her bank account. She had no idea how to invest that much money, but she was going to get that book and figure it out.

Turning the key in the ignition, she groaned when nothing happened. “Not again!” she sighed. Getting out of the ancient Volkswagen bug with more rust than paint, she unlatched the back of the vehicle where the motor was stored. Her cold fingers moved over all the wires until she found the one that was loose, then jiggled the wire until it felt like it was back in place. The beauty of this car is that it was simple enough to figure out how to fix. The nightmare is that it always needed fixing.

But it was hers. It had taken her all summer to earn enough money to pay for it, but she’d done it. It had cost her four hundred dollars just to buy it, then another two hundred to buy the parts to fix it. Brianna and Nikki had helped in that area and, between the three of them, they kept this baby running. They pooled their money for gas and oil and whatever parts it needed. It had been that way since the first day they’d met. The three of them were inseparable and pulling one another on, pushing harder, cheering each other, laughing and crying over their successes and failures. Never in her wildest dreams had Rachel ever thought she’d find friends as wonderful, kind and caring as Nikki and Rachel.

She slipped back into the cracked, vinyl seat and turned the key again. This time, it came to life. One might say roared, but this little car was too old to roar. It was more like it ached to life, then sputtered and creaked as it jostled down the gravel driveway.

She picked up Nikki and Brianna on her way to school, jumping in the back seat. As was their usual routine, the three of them went over their homework to make sure they all got everything right. Rachel checked their math while Nikki reviewed their essays and Brianna drove like a bat out of hell to get them to school on time. Rachel always looked down whenever Brianna drove. Rachel would swear that the old car went up on two wheels during fifty percent of their turns.

It wasn’t such a miracle that they made it to school on time. It was more of a miracle that they arrived alive. Rachel shook her head as the three of them made their way into the school building. Brianna looked so sweet and kind, but put her behind the wheel of a car and she became a demon!

“I got my letter last night. How about you guys?” Rachel asked as they dumped their books in their lockers and hurried to their first class.

“I got mine too!” Brianna exclaimed. “Another year at Camp Woebegone!”

“Me too,” Nikki said. “I’m going to start a reading group this year,” she explained.

Rachel laughed. Nikki loved books more than Brianna and Rachel combined, and that was saying a lot. The three of them read whenever there was any kind of break. Nikki and Brianna could be found over at her house on most weekends, primarily to get out of the foster home in which they lived, but also to study and drive to their various jobs together. With Rachel’s new income, there was more food at her house and she loved being able to go into the grocery store and grab small items. It was a wondrous adventure, having money!

“I’ve got to swing by the library,” she told Nikki and Brianna as they separated to go to their individual classes. “I’ll see you both at lunch, okay?”

The three parted ways with Rachel turning right to head towards the library while her friends went the opposite direction towards their first class.

The librarian was waiting for Rachel; she already had the book on the counter. “I suspected you’d come by here before class,” Ms. Witherspoon said with a kind smile. “Here’s a hall pass and the book. Now hurry up.”

Rachel grabbed the book with a grateful smile for the generous librarian. Rushing to class, she already had the book open as she raced through the hallway. She stuffed the book under her desk during her classes, but read the whole way through the lunch line while Nikki and Brianna placed items on her tray. The three of them sat together, but Rachel was too engrossed in the book. Her stomach started to tighten when she read through the risks involved. This wasn’t a magic trick, she realized. It was actually quite difficult. It was almost no better than gambling.

But she continued to read through the pages, filtering out the information, gathering data, writing down various terms so she would remember them better.

By the following month, she’d read four more book on investing and was ready to take the plunge. She turned down Nikki and Brianna’s money, too afraid of losing their hard earned assets. In fact, the first company in which she invested money, she lost five percent within twenty-four hours. That night, she’d walked into the bathroom and threw up after working her shift at the pizza parlor where she’d served pizza to her classmates, enduring their obnoxious and insulting twenty-five cent tips.

But over the next few months, she’d turned her twenty-five hundred dollars into almost three thousand, not including the other money she’d earned and put into her portfolio. She even had the courage to invest Nikki and Brianna’s earnings, although she felt sick to her stomach every morning when she checked the stock prices.

Her small success showed her that she just needed to learn more, to get more information and learn how to become a stock broker so she wouldn’t lose money. She told herself to be stronger, to learn faster.

The day she broke down and bought her first pair of brand new shoes, she sat on the sidewalk, crying as she hugged the bag. And then she called Nikki and Brianna and the three of them cried about her purchase together. It was a bittersweet celebration, but she knew it was the start of her exit out of poverty. And she’d never go back!

Emerson’s Story…

Ten year old Emerson looked around the corner, his mind already moving from his school work, which he’d completed in his head and just had to write down, to his post school job. He wasn’t legally able to work, but Mr. Vitolli, the owner of the Italian restaurant on the next block, had taken a liking to Emerson. “You come here when your uncle starts drinking,” Mr. Vitolli had said one afternoon. “You sweep for me, I feed you. Deal?”

Emerson had been thrilled and had gone there every day, doing more than sweeping. Of course, Mrs. Vitolli wouldn’t let him do any work until all of his homework had been completed. It was just a basic fact, school came first.

“You sit down over there,” Mrs. Vitolli said as soon as Emerson walked through the back door.

Emerson pulled out his notebook and quickly wrote down all the math problems. He hadn’t brought the book home from school, not wanting it to be stolen like the last one. So he simply memorized the problems, then handed in the paper the following day.

“Good boy,” Mr. Vitolli said, patting Emerson on the back. “Go grab something to eat before you fall over.”

Emerson smiled but eagerly followed the man’s instructions. He never turned down food, not sure when the next meal would be available. He piled his plate high with pasta and sauce while Mrs. Vitolli added some extra meatballs to the plate. “Go sit down. You’re no help if you’re hungry,” her gruff voice said. “Once you’re finished, check our order log, okay? I don’t think the delivery guy charged us right.” Emerson nodded agreement, knowing that he’d already found several errors in the delivery and accounting procedures. He had a knack for numbers, was able to understand things when others saw only chaos.

When he was finished, and pointed out the latest error in the shipping invoice, he walked to the front of the store with a broom, prepared to sweep the floors before the dinner crowd started filtering in.

Mr. Vitolli came to stand beside him and the two of them stared out the window as the restaurant across the street emptied out of furniture. “Another one,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I liked that one. It was good food.” Mr. Vitolli threw his hands up in the air. “Why did this one go out of business? It only took three months this time.”

Emerson watched for several more minutes, then continued sweeping. But while he worked, his mind continued to go through the problem. His eyes watched the flow of traffic, the ease with which pedestrians moved along the sidewalks on this side of the street versus the other side. He noticed the way Mr. and Mrs. Vitolli greeted their customers, treated them all like family. Even the newcomers were welcomed with a smile, fresh, warm bread and then a hearty thank you as they walked out the door.

The atmosphere here was always warm and inviting, he realized. The couple, who hadn’t been able to have children themselves, looked out for the kids on the street. New York was a tough city in which to live. This wasn’t the worst neighborhood, but it was a solid, blue collar neighborhood where people worked hard and cherished family.

By nine o’clock that evening, the dinner rush had already diminished and there were only a few stragglers. “You go home now, get some rest,” Mrs. Vitolli commanded of Emerson.

“Thanks for the spaghetti,” Emerson said, putting the broom back in the closet as he grabbed his sweatshirt from the hook by the door. “Do you need my help tomorrow?” he asked hopefully.

Mr. Vitolli smiled gently and nodded his head. “You’re much needed. And don’t let that uncle of yours tell you any differently.”

Emerson smiled slightly, but wasn’t sure how to respond. He walked out into the cold, night air, stepping over the pile of snow that was hard as a rock now. It melted during the afternoon, then refroze overnight, creating a filthy pile of ice. Emerson stepped over the pile, sliding down the other side before sauntering down the alley towards the apartment he shared with his uncle. As he walked, he wondered about his parents. His uncle had told him that he wasn’t sure who the father was and his mother had died while giving birth. Uncle Mario wasn’t such a bad guy, but not necessarily the best role model. He worked hard Monday through Friday, but by Saturday, he preferred to spend his time drinking and playing cards with his buddies. Which sometimes meant that he lost his weekly income.

Emerson had learned how to hide some of the cash his uncle brought home on payday, stashing it away in a loose baseboard in the bathroom. The only time that hiding place became an issue was after a shower because the wood swelled outwards, causing the baseboard to be too tight to remove.

He entered the apartment and peered inside, checking first to see if his uncle was home or if he’d gone out to one of the bars.

“That you, Emerson?” the man called from the one bedroom in the apartment.

Emerson walked inside, breathing a sigh of relief. “It’s me. I helped Mr. Vitolli tonight.”

Uncle Mario walked out, his denim work shirt stained with oil and grease. “Good, good,” he commented, looking around. “You finish your homework?”

Emerson almost laughed. Uncle Mario prayed that homework was taken care of by someone else because there was no way Emerson’s uncle could help with math. Emerson was only in fifth grade, but he was already doing Geometry, a subject normally taught in the tenth grade. “All finished,” he said and dumped his bag into the tiny closet that served as their pantry as well as the one storage space in the whole, five hundred square foot apartment. “Did you have anything for dinner?”

Uncle Mario rubbed his stomach and smiled. “Yeah. I grabbed a can of beans. Very tasty,” he smiled.

Emerson cringed inwardly. Beans again? That meant a very odiferous night was ahead. “I’d better get to bed.”

The two men separated, Emerson sleeping on a cot over by the one window. Unfortunately, that window only looked out to the next building, which meant they had a lovely view of a brick wall. Since the buildings were so close together, the window didn’t really let in much light.

His uncle grunted and slumped down onto the broken down sofa, flicking on the television. Emerson thought about suggesting that they put the television into his uncle’s bedroom, but he knew that would never happen. Having a television was a status symbol in this neighborhood and Uncle Mario wouldn’t consider hiding it away in the bedroom. Besides, there wasn’t really any place to put it. The bedroom was only large enough to hold a full size bed and a standing light along with one small dresser.

Emerson brushed his teeth and tossed his tee-shirt over the arm of the sofa. Curling up onto the cot, he stared at the wall, his mind going over the issue of the pedestrian traffic tonight in front of the restaurant. His mind worked methodically, coming up with equations that would explain the phenomenon he’d witnessed.

By the following morning, he was writing his equation down in his notebook, trying to discover the best way to anticipate traffic patterns. Not just on the sidewalk, but also in the stores. Now that he had the idea in his head, he wanted to apply the idea to the other store owners. He suspected that, if all of the stores improved their income, there would be a ripple effect.

Walking into Mr. Vitolli’s restaurant the following afternoon, he was stunned by the amount of damage. “What happened?” Emerson asked, something odd happening in the pit of his stomach as he looked at the two people crying over the smashed chairs, broken tables and torn up table clothes. The restaurant was a wreck!

Mr. Vitolli wrapped his arm around his wife, pulling her closer even while laying a gentle hand on Emerson’s shoulder. “There are bad people in the world,” was all he would say.

Emerson looked up at the two people who had helped him more than anyone else in this world. His uncle might provide a roof over his head, but Mr. and Mrs. Vitolli were the ones that encouraged him, helped him and told him to shoot for his dreams, to not accept the life in this neighborhood.

“We can fix it,” Emerson told them with as much confidence as his young mind could muster. “The tables are cracked, but I think Mr. Mason can give us some nails and screws to fix them pretty easily. I can call my uncle and he can help.” At least, Emerson hoped Uncle Mario could help. He’d been drinking pretty late last night, but it was Saturday. He didn’t have to work, so maybe Emerson could persuade him to come down and help.

Mr. Vitolli smiled through his anguish but shook his head. “I don’t think just the three of us can get all this fixed in time.”

Emerson looked around, his mind quickly moving through all the steps it would take to get things cleaned up. He knew there wasn’t a lot of money to be made in a restaurant. He’d helped with the invoices and receipts enough to know their profit margin was barely enough to keep the restaurant in business.

“We can do it,” he asserted once again. Without waiting for an answer, he raced out the back door and didn’t stop until he reached his apartment. “Uncle Mario?” he whispered then sighed with relief when his uncle rolled over. His eyes were just a little bloodshot.

“What’s up?” he asked, slurring his words slightly. Emerson wasn’t sure if that was because of the drink or lack of sleep.

“I need help. Can you help me?” Emerson’s skinny shoulders tensed in anticipation of rejection. Uncle Mario wasn’t unkind, he just….well, he liked to drink too much.

His uncle sighed and rolled over a bit more. “What do you need help with?” He chuckled and shook his head. “You’re way ahead of me in math. I can barely add and subtract.”

Emerson didn’t even smile at the joke. “You’re good with tools,” Emerson asserted. “And the restaurant was broken into last night. Mr. and Mrs. Vitolli need help cleaning up. I thought…”

Uncle Maria sat up, only cringing slightly from the movement. “These are the people who feed you most nights?” he clarified, his hand moving to his hair, trying to smooth it down slightly.

Emerson nodded. “They’re really nice, Uncle Mario. And I just thought…well, you know how to fix things and they have a lot of stuff that needs fixing.”

Uncle Mario nodded his head, trying to focus his eyes. “Yeah.” And a moment later, he shifted his legs over the side of the bed. “Yeah, sure. I can fix things.”

“So will you do it?”

Emerson’s uncle ran a hand over his scruffy face and looked around the cramped apartment. “Sure! Yea, sure. I can help. Just give me a minute to shower.”

“I’ll meet you down there, okay?” Emerson asked, worried that, if he left, his uncle would fall back into the bed. “You won’t forget?”

Uncle Mario looked down at the young kid, seeing the bright, intelligent gaze and smiled slightly. “I can’t help with much, but this is something I can do.” With that, he stumbled into the shower.

Emerson left, feeling more confident that his uncle would show up. He was a good mechanic. Emerson was pretty sure that he could wield a hammer and screwdriver well enough to help out.

His next stop was Mr. Mason’s hardware store. He waited until three of his customers were finished with their transactions. “What’s up, kid?” Mr. Mason asked.

Emerson was too intent on getting help to be intimidated by the gruff, older man. “Mr. Vitolli needs help. Someone broke into his shop last night and everything is really messed up.” With the look of shock on Mr. Mason’s face, Emerson felt better about his next question. “I was wondering if maybe you could give us a few hammers and nails, maybe some screws so we could fix his tables and chairs. They’re all smashed up.” When Mr. Mason’s eyes widened, Emerson continued. “We’ll bring all the hammers and screw drivers back. I promise.”

Mr. Mason looked down at the young child trying to take on so much responsibility for a couple that wasn’t even family. “You doing that for Joey and Madeline?” he asked. When Emerson simply stared at the man, he chuckled. “Mr. and Mrs. Vitolli to you, I guess.”

Emerson shrugged his shoulders. “They’re nice people. This shouldn’t have happened to them.”

Mr. Mason nodded his head. “You’re right. But you know that bad things happen to good people all the time.”

Emerson’s mouth compressed, not believing this was right. “I know. But we should all try and help when bad things happen. It shows that the bad isn’t winning.” Emerson stood his ground, his mind refusing to believe that bad could win. Not in this instance.

Mr. Mason smiled slightly. “You’re right.” He moved his large body out from behind his counter. “Nails and hammers, you said?”

Emerson nodded. “And screws if you have them. My uncle is coming to help. I’m not sure what all he might need.”

Mr. Mason nodded sagely. “Probably some screws would be good. You’re right.” He surveyed his wall of tools, then sighed. “Tell you what. Let me get my wife down here and I’ll come take a look. You’ll need the right screws and nails for each repair job, otherwise, things just fall apart again.”

Emerson felt like his lungs could breathe more deeply all of a sudden. “That would be great.”

“And you’re gonna need some coffee,” he said. “Jennifer down at the diner might be able to bring a pot and some cups.”

Emerson smiled. “Thanks Mr. Mason.”

Three hours later, Emerson looked around at the restaurant that had previously been a mess. All the glass was swept up and four of the neighborhood men were busy trying to repair the tables and chairs. Some of the tables couldn’t be fixed, but most of them could just be either glued or nailed into a semblance of a repair. The older tablecloths were brought out and broken dishes trashed. Uncle Mario was able to fix most of the appliances within only a few hours so most of the food was saved…well, what was left of the food. Whoever had done this had taken most of the meat and cheeses. Thankfully, the Vitolli’s had insurance so most of the damage could be paid for. It would still set them back, but Emerson was relieved that they wouldn’t lose everything, which was what he suspected they’d been thinking when he’d first walked in this morning. And thanks to everyone’s help, they wouldn’t lose the Saturday night dinner business, which was also very important.

By the end of the day, the Vitolli’s cooked a huge meal for everyone who had helped. Emerson looked around, seeing the smiling faces, the kind looks and the anger on behalf of the Vitolli’s in everyone’s eyes. He realized that people were at their best when helping. It was a nice thought to realize that, despite all the harshness of life, there could be goodness as well. He was determined to see only the good in people from now on. He liked that side of the world better.

He smiled as his uncle winked in his direction. Maybe even Uncle Mario could get better!

Learn more about The Billionaire’s Masquerade, book one of three in The Friendship Series

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