Page 73 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)

For the first time since losing Jamie, it feels like my entire world has been turned upside down.

All these years, I thought our family’s wealth was a benefit of my abuelo’s selfless ambitions, not in spite of them.

At least when I was a child, I had the self-centeredness of adolescence to blame for never thinking to question it, but what excuse do I have now?

Clearly, I’m still a self-absorbed child, too consumed by my own issues to see beyond the end of my nose.

And I should have seen it. I should have realized.

After all, I know first-hand what Hallazgo has become—where its investors’ values lie.

I think I just didn’t want to see it because seeing it would have forced me to finally lift the rose-tinted glasses.

To realize my abuelo wasn’t the infallible figure I’ve built him up as in my mind.

And I suppose because it was easier to blame my father, like I have for so much else.

To lay the burden of fault at his feet. After all, it’s not like he’s trying to make the world a better place, or doing anything to help people like Blondie’s mom.

His concerns are singular, and none of them are altruistic.

“Everything your abuelo did,” my abuela says carefully when it’s clear that I won’t break the silence first, “was for survival. For stability. And for the chance, however small, that his actions would eventually do some good in the world. Do you know what it’s like to come to a new country with nothing?

He had his ideals, yes, but he wasn’t just building a company, Damian.

He was building a life for his family. For you .

Your abuelo wanted to help people, and he did as much as he could when he could, but it was also extremely important to him that he take care of his family.

To guarantee and protect our future. Unfortunately, along the way, there were times when a choice had to be made.

And the more Hallazgo grew, the more your abuelo stood to lose. ”

I swallow hard, fighting back the tears threatening to break though. “I just assumed he… I don’t know. The way he always talked about it, I thought he found a way to stay above all the bullshit.”

She sighs. “There is a reason they refer to it as the ignorance of youth, mijo. You only saw the man he wanted you to see—the dreamer who believed he really could change the world. But he carried a lot more that he didn’t show you.

He worried constantly about whether he was doing the right thing.

Whether he was doing enough. Your abuelito was a good man, Damian.

But even good men can’t fight the whole world on their own.

He never stopped trying to help, but he also knew the system was far bigger than he was.

That he was just one cog in a much larger machine. ”

“A machine Dad was more than happy to keep being a part of,” I mutter. My father is a businessman, after all, not a chemist or idealist, like my abuelo was. His priority will always be the bottom line.

My abuela exhales a loud tsk . “Your father inherited a company that was already deeply rooted in the system. He didn’t create it.

He’s simply trying to keep it alive, keep it from falling apart.

Do you think he hasn’t made sacrifices? That he hasn’t struggled with the same questions your abuelo did, or that he doesn’t have regrets about the decisions he’s made?

” I can’t recall the last time my abuela raised her voice, or the last time I heard that fire in it that burns brighter with every word.

Shit, I can count on one hand how many times my abuela has shouted at me.

And unfortunately for me, she’s not done yet.

“ You think he’s selfish, but I think he’s scared of losing everything your abuelo fought for. Of being the one to ruin this family.”

The insolent part of me bites back, “But he’s lost sight of why it all started. Abuelo wanted to help people. Dad only cares about profits and keeping the shareholders happy.”

It’s an unfair thing to say. I know it the moment the words leave my lips.

After all, my family’s wealth isn’t anything new.

It isn’t something we’ve only had since my father took over the company.

I was raised with the private jets, the yachts.

We had all that and more under my abuelo’s leadership.

We grew richer while the poor got poorer, and all this time, I’ve been ignorant and selfish enough to convince myself our fortune wasn’t at the expense of someone else.

I wanted to believe it wasn’t. I wanted to believe one could live by their morals and make positive change in the world, and still have the success, the wealth, the lifestyle I was raised to inherit.

And while I could sit here and say that inheritance isn’t behind why I always wanted to work at Hallazgo—that I was more interested in holding onto that last tie I felt to my abuelo, despite it being the truth—I can also see now how easy it is to say something like that when you have a safety net to fall back on…

even if said safety net is one wrong move away from being ripped out from under me.

A deep sigh filters into my ear, and when my abuela next speaks, I notice that fire in her voice is gone.

Extinguished. Now, she just sounds tired, like she’s grappled with this topic for far longer than the brief span of this conversation.

“A legacy is a heavy burden, mijo. Maybe more than you can imagine. Do you know how many times your abuelo thought he was going to fail? How many times he sat at our table with his head in his hands, wondering if he’d made the wrong choice?

If he’d done the wrong thing? Your father grew up watching that.

He learned to fear failure more than anything, learned just how much was always at stake, at least in those early days when we first came to this country.

” Silence for a beat. “Years have passed since then, but still, that fear remains. Maybe now, you will understand why.”

“But I don’t,” I say as the tears I’ve been holding in for what feels like a lifetime escape, sliding down my cheeks in hot, scalding lines. “I don’t understand any of it. Because if Dad gave a fuck about what abuelo stood for, he never would have let Jamie die.”

I can sense my abuela’s shock through the phone, and she’s quiet for a tenuous moment.

Finally, after what seems like an hour, a year, a decade, she murmurs, “That was a terrible decision to make, but it wasn’t only your father who made it.

” Her every word is measured to hide the waver I clearly hear behind them.

“The truth, mi cielo, is that Jamie was going to die no matter which way your parents chose.”

“But they could have at least tried!” I shout, slamming my hand down hard on the table.

“Yes, they could have,” she agrees, and I’m sobbing in full now.

I can’t seem to wipe the tears away quickly enough.

“But it would’ve taken a miracle to save Jamie’s life, whereas the blow to this family’s livelihood, and to everyone who helped build the company, would have been certain.

And I’m not talking about the shareholders, but the employees—the scientists who worked alongside your abuelo to make Hallazgo a reality.

Do not make the mistake of thinking it didn’t cost your father dearly to choose the way they did. ”

Wiping my nose on my sleeve, I fling myself backward onto my bed and cross my arms over my chest. “How lucky then that it didn’t cost him his precious legacy,” I scoff.

My abuela’s responding laugh is completely devoid of humor.

“No, but it cost him one child and the love and respect of the other.” She pauses then as if considering what to say next, and another few weighted seconds pass in silence before she adds, “Believe me when I tell you that it wasn’t money or legacy your father was thinking about in that moment…

but ensuring there would still be a future for the child who would actually live to have one. ”

Those words evoke more pain than one of Blondie’s swiftly-timed kicks to the nuts, and I grimace, rolling onto my side until my face is mere inches from my phone.

“Are you just saying that so I’ll forgive him?” I mutter.

I hope she is. Because the thought of it being a lie is so much easier to swallow than the possibility that what she’s said is true.

My abuela tuts at the question. “No, mi amor. If your father seeks your forgiveness, he will have to ask for it himself. Though, I do pray you will try to remember that you are not the only one who lost your brother. We are all still hurting.”

As if on cue, my heart squeezes, reminding me of that pain, and I curl into a ball as my tears continue their now silent descent, the pillow growing cold and wet where they pool beneath my face.

So much for walking away from this conversation feeling fucking inspired.

I called my abuela so she could make me feel better, so she could give me hope that I can still find some way to help Blondie since I’m clearly incapable of doing it on my own.

I wanted to spark an idea, not discover that everything I grew up believing was bullshit, and that my anger these last four years has maybe been severely misguided.

“Are you still there, mijo?” she asks after a while.

My responding grunt lacks enthusiasm.

“Talk to me, Damian. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

I sniff, rolling onto my back again, wiping away my remaining tears with the heels of my hands. “I won’t lie to you, abuela. I’m thinking this has all been depressingly eye-opening.”

She lets out a sardonic laugh. “Why? Because you’ve finally learned your abuelito was human?

Because your father is not the heartless monster you’ve convinced yourself he is?

” My silence says it all, and she snorts.

“Good. Maybe now you can let go of this idea that you need to become either of them. Instead, you should become your own man.”

I blink at that, the words like a slap in the face that rouse me from my indignation and grief.

Become my own man?

“But I…” A lump rises in my throat. I swallow hard. “Even if Hallazgo didn’t become what abuelo envisioned, he was still the one with the ideas and the skills. What the hell do I have to offer? What can I possibly hope to achieve that he couldn’t?”

If he couldn’t find a way to make a real difference, how can I?

And then there’s my dad to contend with.

Regardless of his reasons for what happened with Jamie, his priority is ensuring the survival of Hallazgo.

And maybe his motivation for protecting it really is the same as why I’m so set on working for the company—that lingering thread connecting us to abuelo.

Maybe he knows me better than I care to admit if he knew to snatch that thread away.

But that sentimental connection—the one that makes me want to fight for a different Hallazgo, and makes him want to protect it—means it’ll only be that much harder to convince my dad to let me change anything.

He wants to preserve, but I want to evolve.

I only wish I knew how to do that.

“You listen to me, mijo,” my abuela commands, and I soften at the consoling cadence of her voice.

“You are a bright young man, and you have your own skills and passion that you will use to make a difference. I’m certain of it.

But you don’t need to have all the answers right now, and no one expects you to. Give it time. Give yourself time.”

But I don’t have time! I nearly shout into the phone.

Blondie’s mom might not have time.

As if reading my thoughts, my abuela says, “Besides, I hear your Lexi has quite the gifted mind. Perhaps, you will one day work together on this and find those answers together.”

My abuela’s words echo in my head.

Together…

Together?

Holy shit, that’s it.

I don’t need to have a big brain like Blondie’s. I just need Blondie herself.

That spark I’ve been waiting for ignites, and a vague concept of an idea starts to form. Well, fuck. This was a super traumatic way to go about it, but it looks like I found my inspiration after all.

Way to deliver, abuela.

I thank her for her brutal honesty, and after a quick goodbye, a goodnight, and a, “Yes, abuela, I will bring Lexi to visit again soon,” I hang up the call and get ready to brainstorm.

And as that ember of hope building inside me explodes into a vibrant flame, I start to believe that, maybe, I really can succeed where my abuelo didn’t.

Maybe his role wasn’t to finish what he started, but to lay the foundation.

To build something strong enough for me to take further—to push beyond survival, and use Hallazgo as the tool to create something that will actually bring real change to the world the way he always wanted.

Maybe that’s my legacy.

I understand it now—the reason for all the stories, the convictions I was raised on…

My father might have inherited the company, but I inherited my abuelo’s dream.