Helping Hands Network. It started out as a project for Emily, mostly because she was tired of being bored during the Parent Teacher Conferences at her son’s junior high school. The other Moms attending were working and middle class. None of them had money or resources like she and Jonathan had. She could have enrolled Joshua into the best private schools money could buy. Somehow, this seemed, to her anyway, a way she could contribute to the lesser people in the world. Namely, all those hard-working Moms who barely had the time to breathe, much less be involved in something as thankless as the PTA. Besides, she might teach them something about money, how to save and invest, and maybe, just maybe, put their money into her husband’s bank. So, like other wealthy people who invest their time into volunteer projects, Emily sunk herself into the PTA. But now, the novelty of volunteering for the school and the PTA was wearing off. She wanted more – something that would leave her mark in Danville. Emily wanted to build a legacy.

Finishing eating their dinner, the server was clearing the table, Jonathan rattling the ice in his bourbon glass. “I’m not saying it’s a terrible idea, sweetheart,” Jonathan often referred to Emily as sweetheart when he was placating her and what he termed her ‘hobbies.’ The server returned with a fresh glass of bourbon over ice. Jonathan insisted on drinking his liquor ice cold. It didn’t matter what it was. But to see him do so sacrilegiously, his business partners and friends gave him so much grief. He knew it watered down the bourbon. He honestly didn’t care. “Why not use your business acumen to build something that would net a profit? An investment firm, for example. You’ve always been good with money and investments.” He rattled his bourbon, the ice clinking in the glass. “You know you’d have over two million dollars in net profit in two years! Seems like the best idea.” He sipped his drink, finally setting it down on the table. 

Emily fiddled with her wine glass, spinning it around in circles by the base. Her teeth were clenched, mainly because Jonathan was ignoring her. He ignored her most of the time. It’s a wonder they were still married, but where would she go? He was one of the most powerful men in Danville, and she was his wife. She didn’t have anything to call her own. Sure. She had cars. Clothes. Jewelry. Stocks and bonds. Four separate bank accounts, all in her own name. Ten credit cards, including a Platinum American Express. Emily had exclusive access and executive privilege to all the high-designer stores, including a personal shopper who bought clothes and accessories tailored to her style. And the best part was no prenuptial agreement between her and Jonathan. Regardless of how they treated each other, Jonathan truly loved her and didn’t want another relationship or woman. But he was so busy making money and spending it that he didn’t realize he was neglecting her. “I want to do this,” she said absently. Emily didn’t even look up at Jonathan. “I’m going to do this,” she said, finally looking him in the eye. “With or without your blessing, Jon. It will be good for me and this city.” The server quickly approached the table and refilled her glass with the Pinot without a sound. “Thank you, Anton.” The server politely nodded and returned to his station, ready to cater to the couple’s every need, at least inside the restaurant.

 Jonathan sipped his bourbon, continuing to clink the ice against the sides of the glass. “How much is it going to take to get it started?”

“Nothing.” Emily started the ball rolling before her conversation with her husband, talking to the owners of several businesses willing to donate clothing, food, or other resources to get her nonprofit off the ground. If things progressed this quickly for her, the organization would need a large warehouse to ship and receive all kinds of merchandise. Kind of like Amazon, only for a nonprofit organization whose only goal is helping less fortunate people. “My connections are ready and willing to do whatever we need to help these people.”

Jonathan swallowed the last drop of his bourbon, continuing to rattle the ice. Emily hated it when he did it, but it was his thing. Hers was the birth of a nonprofit that would help other people. People she and her friends rarely saw, much less would associate with. “Em, you have a name picked out for this nonprofit?”

“Not officially.”

 He reached across the table, holding her hand. “Whatever you decide to name, it will be perfect,” he said, squeezing her hand. “You will have lots of people looking for handouts.” He held out his free hand, palm facing upward. “Their hands will be out, just like this.”

She leaned over and kissed Jonathan on the cheek. “I love you,” she whispered in his ear. She closed his open palm. “But we’re helping those hands.” She suddenly let go of his hand, sitting straight up, shock washing over her face. “That’s what we have to call it!” She stood up quickly, snatching her purse from the back of the chair. “Helping Hands!” She kissed her husband full on the lips. “Oh, I love you, you amazing man!” And in a flash, she was rushing toward the door, cell phone in hand, calling someone. “I know it’s a bit late, but I have news! Can you talk?” Before she reached the door, the valet opened it. Outside, a town car was waiting specifically for her. The couple arrived separately, which was unusual for them.

Jonathan waited until she reached the door. Emily looked back with a huge grin, blew him a kiss, and got into the town car. He didn’t pick up his cell phone until the restaurant door was closed. “Carl. Jon. We need to talk. No. Not now. Let’s set something up for tomorrow. Yeah? Breakfast sounds good. Sure. I’ll see you at 7:30 a.m. Bye.” He fiddled with his glass again before standing up, straightening his suit and tie, and making his way to the door. He and Emily had an open account at the restaurant, so there was never a check. Besides, he and Emily had a personal stake in the bistro. Before he walked outside, the door being opened like it was for Emily, Sandy stopped him. “Mr. Von Otto, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” she said, shaking his hand. “Where’s Emily?”

“On her way home.”

“I’m sorry I missed her. Let her know I was thinking about her. How was your meal tonight?” Sandy was the general manager and right-hand woman of the owner. Jonathan had met and eaten with the owner here on multiple occasions. Sandy was instructed to do whatever it took to exceed his and Emily’s expectations.

“Above excellent, as per usual.”

“Excellent. Is there anything we could do better?” Sandy asked that of every top-shelf client of the establishment. She made so much more than any other general manager, exceeding even those who worked in the industry longer than her.

“Yes. A longer pour on the bourbon,” Jonathan winked at her, knowing his request was impossible. He still liked to joke about a stiffer drink.

“When the regulations change, and I can pour more for you, I’m happy to. In the meantime, you’ll have to settle for a two or four-ounce pour.”

“I’ll get right on that, Sandy.” Jonathan smiled. Sandy was personable but not overbearing. Some GMs had the personality of gritty sandpaper, and they were always trying their best to kiss your ass. Not Sandy. There was a genuine sincerity about her. Sandy wanted you to feel good when you left, no matter the price point of a drink. That was one of many reasons Emily enjoyed coming here. Jonathan did, too, even though he made money on every patron walking through the doors. 

“The last time I talked with you, Liz proposed. Have you set a date yet?”

Sandy sighed. “Not yet. She’s been swamped, as I’m sure you are aware.”

Elizabeth was one of a few lawyers the bank kept on retainer just in case. Most of their issues were real estate related, but occasionally, there were contracts the bank needed to close. Liz was one of the best contract lawyers in California. And with four business deals in process, three of which concerned Jonathan, Liz was frequently in his office. “Yes. But she’s all business. Rarely opens up about anything concerning you and her.”

Sandy shook her head. “I’m not at all surprised. It’s hard to get her to open up to me.”

“But I thought . . .”

Sandy held up her finger. “I’d not finish that thought if I were you.”

“How do you know what I was going to say?”

“Because you are a married, middle-aged white man. You think women can’t be closed off because we’re so emotional. Just don’t go there. I like you, Jonathan, and I don’t want to cut you off.”

Jonathan held up both hands in surrender. “You got me. I’ll drop it.”

“Good. Tell me you will let up on Liz’s workload soon. Please.”

Jonathan shook his head affirmatively. “I will do my best.”

“Thank you.” The town car pulled up, and the glossy black paint reflected the lights and their faces. The car was so shiny Sandy had to shield her eyes from the reflection. The doorman opened the car door for Jonathan. “Just because you can’t say it doesn’t mean that you are wrong,” she smiled, winking at him before the door shut.

Emily spent the next few days hashing out the details of her nonprofit organization, the Helping Hands Network. And after Jonathan had a few days to think over the name, he agreed with his bride. It was a solid name. On brand and point, Helping Hands Network worked to build the infrastructure it needed to grow quickly and efficiently. Emily and her team poured over every intricate detail of failed nonprofits, ensuring their success. Learning from others’ mistakes is always less costly than making your own. That’s one of many reasons Emily kept the PTA from failing. Her greatest asset was her ability to talk through difficulties with people, ask questions, and ensure all sides were understood. Jonathan envied Emily’s ability to put people at ease while getting them to see her side of any situation. In one month, she had everything needed to start assisting those in need or those needing food, clothing, or shelter. Her partnerships and connections allowed synergy between organizations that didn’t get along at one time or another. After 90 days of operation, Helping Hands generated a little over $300,000 in cash and $175,000 in non-cash donations, which included everything from clothes and food to beds, dishes, sheets, towels, toiletries, and even fifteen used cars. Everyone who donated came back, giving even more later. And, because of her team and their due diligence, every single item donated was, in fact, tax deductible! Especially high-dollar things like cars. The donations were used for those who qualified, again due to a strict adherence to guidelines that worked for multiple nonprofit organizations, compiled into Helping Hands policies and procedures, another thing that Jonathan was envious of Emily for. For Emily, it filled the emptiness inside her, knowing she was actually helping people who needed the help.

“Ms. Von Otto,” Jackie called out to Emily.

“Jackie, you can call me Emily.”

“Thank you, Ms. Von Otto. I am aware.” Emily rolled her eyes. “But if you are to be taken seriously as a powerful woman, Ms. Von Otto, you must ensure your staff treats you with the highest regard. That includes calling you by your full, formal name. So, please excuse me, Ms. Von Otto, but I must do this.” Then, watching everyone clear the room, except her and Emily, she mouthed, “Em,” and winked, smiling a big smile.

“What would I do without you, Jackie?”

“I am certain you would forget eyeliner. Or worse, lipstick. Heaven forbid! Especially with the televised interviews you will be doing.”

“Wait. What?” Emily hated being the center of attention, but now that she was in charge of fifteen staff who oversaw hiring and training 200 employees, it seemed only fitting to be in front of a camera.

“With all the attention Helping Hands is receiving,” Jackie told her, “It’s only a matter of time before the major national networks send their best journalists to interview you. You have a 1:15 with Mr. Von Otto that you cannot miss. I highly suggest you wear the Ganni crêpe jersey maxi dress. And you pick the heels.”

“Thank you, Jackie. Any idea why he’s scheduled this meeting with me?”

“I’m not a mind reader, Ms. Von Otto.”

“Of course, you’re not. I’m simply wondering,” Jackie cut her off.

“If I did my homework and know what he will throw at you? Yes. I believe it has something to do with that property on the edge of Danville that’s currently underdeveloped. He will offer it to you as a possibility for Helping Hands new space. Do not accept the offer until you give it to your team. That would be unwise.”

“Thank you, Jackie.”

“That’s all I have, Ms. Von Otto.”

“Very good. I will see you before my lunch date, yes?”

“Yes. I’ll be waiting in the car before and after your lunch.”

“What would I do without you?”

Jackie raised her eyebrows. “You asked me that already. And I answered.”

Emily smiled. “So you did.”