Chương 120: Chapter 119: The Blind Trust (11/02/1996)

DATE: Saturday, November 2, 1996 LOCATION: San Diego, CA | Fractal Systems Legal Department LOCAL TIME: 10: 00 AM PST"The name is specific," I said. My proxy and lead counsel, John Patterson, looked down at the trust documents. He was accustomed to managing the sprawling shell companies that hid our arcologies and aerospace patents, but this particular filing clearly confused him.

"The John E. Alexander Trust," Patterson read aloud.

"Beneficiary: Merit-based international applicants to Stanford University. Single recipient."

"Correct."

"Who is John E. Alexander?" Patterson asked, his pen hovering over the signature line.

"Is he a new donor? A board member?"

"He doesn't exist yet," I said, looking past him out the heavy glass window toward the Pacific. John. Elise. Alexander. They were the names of the children I hadn't had yet. The children who would never be born if I miscalculated this pivot. I was naming the scholarship after them because it was their future I was securing. I was spending their inheritance to ensure their mother arrived in America with her head held high.

"It needs to be a blind trust, John," I instructed, turning back to the desk.

"The recipient can never know the source of the funds. As far as the university knows, it's an anonymous endowment from a private tech sector benefactor. As far as the recipient knows, they won it based entirely on their own academic merit."

"Okay," Patterson said, signing the paperwork with a fluid stroke.

"And the criteria?"

"Academic excellence in the Russian Federation. Gold Medal recipients preferred." I handed him a cashier's check for $250, 000—enough to comfortably cover four years of out-of-state tuition, housing, and international transit.

"File it. And I want the acceptance packet couriered to Vladivostok immediately upon receipt of her application." I walked out of the office. This was the fulcrum. If she came to the United States on a fiancé visa, she was mine—dependent, trapped by my wealth, and eventually resentful. But if she came on a scholarship, she was hers. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. This way, we could date.

We could break up (though I would engineer every variable to ensure we didn't). We would be equals. She would have her own money, her own dorm room at Wilbur Hall, her own social circle. She wouldn't be trapping me, and I wouldn't be suffocating her. I wasn't buying a wife. I was investing in a partner.

DATE: Friday, August 15, 1997 LOCATION: San Francisco International Airport (SFO) | International Terminal LOCAL TIME: 02: 30 PM PST The heavy sliding glass doors of the International Arrivals terminal hissed open, venting the sterile, recycled air of the customs hall into the warm California afternoon. I stood leaning against the concrete barrier at the curb. I wasn't wearing a bespoke Brioni suit, and I wasn't wearing a Ranger Regiment uniform. I was wearing faded jeans and a plain t-shirt.

I looked exactly like what I was supposed to be on paper: a twenty-one-year-old college student. Chase stood next to me, deeply tanned and wearing a cardinal-red Stanford hoodie.

"You're nervous," Chase noted, not looking away from the sliding doors.

"I don't get nervous," I started, before letting out a slow, heavy breath.

"Okay. Maybe I'm nervous. I put a lot of structural work into this, and I am taking a massive gamble." Then, I saw her. Olga pushed a rented luggage cart through the doors. She looked physically exhausted from the grueling, multi-leg flight across the Pacific, but her green eyes were bright, wide, and almost defiant as she took in the chaotic California terminal. She was clutching a thick manila folder against her chest like a shield—her acceptance letter and her scholarship papers.

She scanned the crowd of waiting drivers and families. She saw me. She didn't hesitate. She walked toward me with the fierce, unyielding posture of a woman who had just crossed an ocean entirely on her own steam.

"Chad," she said, stopping the cart in front of me.

"Hi, Olya," I said. I didn't grab her. I didn't claim her. I extended a hand, letting her close the distance, before transitioning into a gentle, familiar hug.

"I made it," she said, pulling back. She held up the manila folder like a trophy, tapping the seal.

"I got the scholarship. The Dean sent me a letter. They said my grades were the highest they had seen from the region."

"I knew you could do it," I said, offering a wide, genuine smile.

"I told you."

"And this is Chase?" she asked, her gaze shifting to my brother.

"Welcome to California, Olya," Chase said, flashing his polished, effortless politician's smile. He stepped forward to take the handle of her luggage cart.

"I'll show you around campus. The law library is amazing. Where are they putting you?"

"I have a dorm room," she said, her chin lifting with pride.

"Wilbur Hall."

"That's great," I said.

"My car is right over here. Let's get you settled." I grabbed her heaviest bag off the cart. As we walked toward the parking garage, I glanced over at her profile. She wasn't looking at me with the heavy gratitude or quiet desperation I remembered from the hardest years of our original timeline. She was looking out at the California sun with pure, unadulterated ambition. I remembered the fights in the old timeline. The bitter, screaming matches in the kitchen about money, leverage, and feeling trapped.

That future was dead. I opened the passenger door of the car for her.

"Ready for school?" I asked.

"Ready," she said, sliding into the seat. I shut the door, walked around to the driver's side, and started the engine.