Chapter 4: "The Offer"
January 12, 1998 – Los Angeles, California
California Children's Home Society
The orphanage was wrapped up in its morning routine. Breakfast had just ended; the children were running around the yard, their laughter mingling with the creaking of rusty swings. Susan collected the cups with automatic movements, humming a light tune as she gave gentle orders to the little ones to put away their toys.
It was an ordinary day. Just another in the life of the home.
Until a black car pulled up to the entrance.
It wasn't just any car. Its paint job gleamed immaculately in the winter sun, and the engine cut off with a purr that conveyed power. When the back door opened, Jackson Evans emerged from inside.
His figure was imposing even before he entered: a perfectly pressed gray suit, a dark blue tie, shoes that reflected the light like mirrors. He walked with measured, firm steps, like someone who had spent years accustomed to the world parting ways before him.
But he didn't come as a curious visitor. His gaze didn't wander, didn't inspect. It was fixed, determined.
He came with a purpose.
Principal Harris, who was organizing some documents in the foyer at the time, looked up. His eyebrows raised in surprise; he hadn't expected to see him again so soon. He hurried out, his face composed between politeness and caution.
"Mr. Evans... how unexpected," he greeted, extending his hand formally.
Jackson shook it firmly, without hesitation. His gray eyes were like steel: cold, determined, but with a hidden glimmer of something more human.
"Principal." His voice was deep, measured, each word carrying weight. "I don't come by chance. I'm here for Richard."
The air seemed to tense in that instant. A pair of children playing near the entrance stopped running, watching curiously. Susan, still holding a cup, stood still, her gaze fixed on the scene. She pursed her lips, slowly crossing her arms, as if she'd sensed something important was afoot.
Harris cleared his throat, regaining his composure. His years of experience had trained him to maintain control even in unexpected moments, but inside, his mind was whirling with questions.
"I understand." With a gesture, he indicated the direction of his office. "Please come with me."
The two men walked down the hallway, their footsteps echoing solemnly on the polished floor. As they moved forward, a few children watched them from the corners, murmuring to each other as if they guessed this visitor wasn't just another one.
Susan watched them from the dining room doorway. Her brow furrowed, and the cheerful humming of before had vanished. He didn't need to say anything: his rigid posture, the gleam of concern in his eyes, said it all.
That man hadn't come back out of courtesy.
He hadn't come back by chance.
He was there for Richard.
And everyone, even if they didn't fully understand, felt it.
—
The Principal's Office
Principal Harris's office smelled of waxed wood, old papers, and lukewarm coffee forgotten in a corner. It was an austere but well-maintained space: walls lined with framed diplomas, a shelf full of filing cabinets, and a small window through which the morning light streamed in, bathing the dust suspended in the air.
Jackson sat at the desk, as straight as a marble statue. His bearing wasn't just physical: it was the presence of someone accustomed to boardrooms, impossible negotiations, and having his every gesture interpreted as a strategic move.
Harris imitated him, albeit with a slight hesitation. He interlaced his fingers on the desk, studying it as if trying to read between the lines.
"You're talking about Richard..." he began cautiously. "Do you want to become his sponsor?"
It was the standard question. At the orphanage, many kind-hearted—or well-regarded—benefactors offered temporary support: funding studies, donating materials, spending time with the children.
Jackson shook his head slowly. The motion was calm, but charged with firmness.
"No." His voice was deep, sharp, like the blow of a hammer. "I'm talking about adopting him."
The silence that followed was thick, almost tangible. The ticking of the wall clock became unbearable in the stillness. Harris blinked, incredulous, as if he hadn't heard correctly.
"Adopt him?" he repeated, letting out a short sigh. "Mr. Evans, you... you're not just anyone. Your life is complicated, demanding. The press, business, commitments... And Richard, well..." He leaned forward, "Richard is a special boy."
His words weren't a random warning. Harris knew Richard only too well: his boundless intelligence, his peculiar charisma, that inexplicable maturity that made him stand out from the rest. A child like that didn't fit into just any family.
Jackson held his gaze without flinching. There was no arrogance in his expression, but an intensity that was both chilling and moving.
"I know." He took a deep breath, sitting back in his chair. "Precisely for that reason. Richard isn't just any kid. And I... I'm not a man who can pass up another opportunity."
There was a barely perceptible tremor in his voice on that last sentence. It wasn't weakness, it was humanity.
Harris noticed it instantly. He studied him seriously, gauging the weight of those words. Years of experience had taught him to differentiate between the whims of the rich and genuine decisions. And what he saw in this man wasn't a momentary outburst. There was something deeper, something that smelled of debt, of redemption, of an old wound trying to heal.
Jackson lowered his gaze for a second, a strange gesture for someone who always projected absolute control. His fingers brushed the edge of the desk, tense, as if clinging to the reality he was confessing.
"I've made mistakes in my life, Director," he said softly, with an honesty he rarely allowed to escape. "Mistakes that cost me everything I value most. But I don't intend to repeat them. Not with him."
Harris remained silent. He didn't know the whole story, but he understood enough: behind that impeccable suit, that imposing figure, was a man burdened with loss and guilt. And now he was looking for more than a child: he was looking for a new beginning.
The Director interlaced his fingers again, breathing slowly.
"Mr. Evans... if you really want to move forward with this, you should know that it won't be easy. Richard trusts us, this place. Any change in his life... must be for the better."
Jackson looked up again. His gaze was firm, steely, but beneath it shone a spark of vulnerability.
"I know. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes."
Harris nodded slowly, knowing he had just witnessed the beginning of something big.
"
Meanwhile, in the hallway..."
Richard crouched on the floor, surrounded by cardboard pieces. Lily struggled to fit one edge of the puzzle together, while Tommy, tongue between his teeth, felt for the corners. Richard leaned over them with exaggerated patience, as if he were an anime sensei training his disciples.
"No, no, Tommy, that piece doesn't go there," he said, laughing softly. "If you force it, the castle will look like Dracula's instead of Disney's."
Lily burst out laughing, proudly showing off her loose tooth.
"Dracula has a great castle!"
Richard was about to continue the joke when, suddenly, a word pierced the air from the adjoining office.
"Adopt him."
The sound came as barely a murmur filtered through the half-open door, but for Richard it was like thunder. The word bounced around in his head again and again, pounding, shattering the calm he'd felt until then.
He felt his heart race. His breath grew shorter. Inside, something stirred: a spark of excitement, a flicker of hope.
Adopt him?
Him?
For an instant, everything he'd dreamed of since opening his eyes in that body became possible. Not a shared bed in a snoring dormitory, not a meal served on strict schedules, not caregivers doing their best. But a family. A real home. Someone who wouldn't just care for him… but choose him.
Richard squeezed the puzzle pieces between his fingers. His adult mind tried to analyze it, to remain calm, but his childish heart was stronger. That heart pounded with a mixture of excitement and fear that completely disarmed him.
He turned his gaze to Lily. She was laughing out loud, tossing her braids, completely oblivious to the seriousness of that moment. Tommy looked at him with wide eyes, waiting for his approval to place the next piece, trusting him like he was the older brother he never had.
The orphanage wasn't perfect. There were fights, absurd rules, cold days without enough blankets. But it was his place. It was where he had built something he never had, not even in his first life: belonging. Here, they knew him, here, they loved him. Here, he was more than a number.
A knot tightened in his chest. The thought of leaving was sweet and bitter at the same time. What if accepting meant losing those laughs? Losing Lily, Tommy, all the little ones who ran to him like he was their hero?
He swallowed, feeling the emotion mix with unexpected pain.
> "Damn… I didn't think it would hurt this much."
He pressed his lips together, taking a deep breath, trying to regain control. But deep down, he knew: no matter what happened in that office, his life was about to change forever.
And he wasn't sure he was ready for it.
—
That afternoon, in the common room…
The room was silent. The curtains let in a warm, golden light, which contrasted with the tension in the air. The children had stayed in the courtyard, leaving only the adults and Richard, small but with a gaze too intense for his age.
Susan stood with her arms crossed, watching every gesture as if she wanted to protect him from some unseen danger. Headmaster Harris sat behind his desk, his face serious but expectant. Jackson Evans stood in the middle, upright, with that presence that made the air seem to align around him.
"Richard," Harris began, his voice slow and deep, "Mr. Evans has expressed his desire to adopt you."
Richard's heart stopped for a moment, then pounded so hard his ears rang. He bit his lip, clenched his fists at his sides, and slightly raised his chin. He wasn't going to show enthusiasm, he wasn't going to be an excited child. He couldn't.
"Adopt me?" he repeated, drawling the word in a strangely adult tone, as if he wanted to put a barrier between himself and the hope that frightened him.
Jackson didn't underestimate him. He took a step forward, slightly bending his knees to get closer to the boy's level. His voice, deep and firm, filled the room.
"Yes. I want you to come with me. I want to give you a home."
The silence grew heavy. Susan swallowed, and another of the caretakers opened the door a crack, as if wanting to listen but not interrupt. Richard looked up slowly. His eyes were large and bright, but hardened by a doubt that wasn't common in a five-year-old.
"And my friends? And Susan? And everything I have here?" he blurted out, his voice cracking only at the end. He tried to sound strong, but the words came out thick with fear. He hugged his arms to his chest, as if that way he could contain the emotion that tore through him. I don't want to... I don't want to lose him.
The shock of sincerity left him exposed. Susan took an instinctive step forward, wanting to hug him, but stopped. Her eyes moistened at the sight of him so vulnerable.
Jackson took a deep breath. That reaction hadn't been in his calculations, but it didn't entirely surprise him either. He knew that a child wasn't a piece of paper to be signed, but a soul with roots. He could have told him "everything would be okay," he could promise easy things... but he wasn't a man to sugarcoat the truth.
He leaned closer, until he was face to face with the boy. And with harsh but warm honesty, he spoke:
"I'm not asking you to forget what you have here." His voice was deep, but gentle. "But I'm offering you something you've never had: a family. I can't promise it will be easy... but I can promise you'll never be alone again."
Richard felt a lurch in his stomach. Those words pierced his armor like an arrow. It wasn't an empty speech. It was exactly what he had silently wished for when he blew out the candles days before.
"You'll never be alone again..."
The phrase struck him like an echo that aligned with the wish he hadn't confessed to anyone. The wish to never be abandoned again, to never wake up in a cold room wondering why no one had chosen him.
He felt a burning in his eyes. A couple of tears threatened to escape, and to hide them, he forced himself to lift his chin, to put on an insolent child's face.
"What if I don't like you?" he murmured, with a crooked smile that tried to sound defiant, though his voice trembled slightly.
For a moment, the silence was broken. Susan covered her mouth to keep from laughing, and Harris raised his eyebrows. But Jackson... Jackson wasn't upset. On the contrary.
His lips, so accustomed to harshness, curved into the first sincere smile he had shown in a long time. A tired, human smile.
"Then," he said, with a calmness that conveyed more confidence than any promise, "I'll have to work hard to make you do it."
Richard stared at him, his heart pounding. Part of him wanted to crack one more joke, but another part—the part that was still a child yearning to belong—wanted to throw himself at him.
He didn't. Not yet. But silently, inside, he began to accept that maybe, just maybe... this man could be different.
And Susan, from the corner, smiled tenderly as she saw how, for the first time, Richard seemed to allow himself to believe in something bigger than the orphanage.
—
That night, in the shared dormitory, the murmur of quiet breathing filled the air. The children were fast asleep after the party, some hugging worn-out cloth dolls, others tangled in their sheets. The moon filtered through the window, casting soft shadows on the walls.
Richard, however, lay awake on the top bunk. The watch on his wrist glowed dimly under the dim lamp at the end of the hallway. He watched it over and over, turning it on his too-thin arm, as if he wanted to imprint every detail on his memory.
The thought of leaving filled him with a whirlwind of emotions impossible to sort out. There was something in his chest that expanded strongly: a spark of excitement, of anticipation, of the real possibility of having a home. But there was also the knot, the tight rope of fear that pulled him back.
He turned his head. From his bed, he could see Tommy, on the bottom bunk, his mouth half-open, a teddy bear half-fallen. Across the room, Lily was murmuring stray words in her sleep, cuddled in a colorful blanket. Richard watched them silently, feeling the weight of the word that had been repeating in his head all day: family.
Susan, the children, even Principal Harris in his dry way—this place was already something close to home. It wasn't perfect, but they had been everything to him. And now he had to choose between staying in that familiar safety or leaping into the unknown.
> "What if I'm wrong? What if I regret it? What if... it's really worth it?"
He clutched the watch to his chest. The metal was cold, but the feeling surrounding him was warm, almost comforting. As if the object weren't just a gift, but a silent promise. A connection. An answer to a wish he'd held deep inside.
He bit his lip. The adult part of him, the sarcastic mind he'd brought from his other life, wanted to analyze it as if it were a new game: pros, cons, statistics, possible routes. But the childish part of him, the one now beating strongly, just wanted something simple. He wanted to be liked. He wanted to be chosen.
A sigh escaped his lips.
He wouldn't admit it yet, not even to himself, but deep down he already knew: the decision had been made. He was scared, yes. But there was something about Jackson, in his gaze, and in those words—"you'll never be alone again"—that had lit a fire in him that couldn't be extinguished.
He lay on his side, the watch clutched to his chest like a talisman. And as sleep finally overcame him, a clear idea echoed through his mind:
The main campaign had just begun.
—