On the third night, Farlow cornered me in his study.
“I’ll be blunt, Sam,” he said, swirling whiskey in a crystal glass. “Eddy is our only daughter. We’ve worked hard to give her opportunities. Naturally we’re… concerned.”
“Concerned about what?” I asked calmly.
“Whether your son can provide for her. Whether he’s… suitable.”
My fists tightened.
“My son loves your daughter. He’s kind, intelligent, and treats her like she hung the moon. Isn’t that enough?”
Farlow smiled coldly.
“Love doesn’t pay bills, Sam. It certainly doesn’t fulfill dreams.”
Christmas Eve finally arrived.
We gathered in their enormous living room beside a towering Christmas tree that nearly touched the ceiling.
Marta distributed gifts with mechanical politeness while Farlow watched us carefully, still trying to determine exactly how poor we were.
I had reached my limit.
I pulled an envelope from my jacket pocket.
“Eddy,” I said, “I know you and Will plan to move to New York after graduation. Finding a place there isn’t easy, so I wanted to help.”
Marta laughed sharply.
“Help? What could you possibly—”
Her eyes narrowed at the envelope.
“What is that? A list of shelters? Roommate ads? A thrift store coupon?”
“Open it,” I said.
Eddy did.
Her hands began trembling.
“Sam… this is… Oh my God…”
“What is it?” Marta demanded.
Eddy turned the envelope toward them.
Inside was the deed to a fully furnished three-story brownstone in Tribeca worth about $4.5 million.
The room fell silent.
Farlow stared at me.
“You’re poor. You rode a bus here. You’re wearing old clothes…”
“Exactly,” I said calmly.
“I wanted my son to be loved for who he is, not for what he’ll inherit.”
I removed my worn jacket, revealing a simple but very expensive shirt.
“I invented an industrial sealant twenty years ago,” I continued. “It’s used in aerospace and automotive manufacturing.”
I paused.
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