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217 Miranda

I remember the first time I saw Connor Templeton, over two years ago.

It was at some sort of fundraiser I was attending, merely for appearances. I had no use for clean water in African villages, or schooling for underprivileged children in Latin America. In fact, many times these things ran counter to my business interests.

But I had learned long before from my grandparents that social niceties are a cloak best used to hide your real intentions. At least, the smartest use them for that. The less intelligent use them to get from others what they can’t summon for themselves, whether that be approval, self-worth, or a balm for their conscience.

Fundraisers: self-absorbed liberals’ prescription for feeling better about themselves.

At any rate, it was some pompous gala where people pledged $1000 to charity and ate and drank $900 worth of champagne and caviar. I was trying to raise my profile amongst the do-gooder set, so I had donated $50,000 on behalf of my firm. I expected to make back a
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