The morning sun entered througha window and layed across the polished surface of Duke's desk, illuminating the newspapers laid out before him.
The phone rang, its shrill tone a violation of the morning's contemplative silence. Eleanor's voice came through the intercom. "Mr. Nichols on line one, sir."
Duke picked up the receiver. "Mike."
"The industry played it out safe, Duke." Nichols's voice was a low, strained current of emotion, and bitterness.
"They gave us the director prize because they had to, because the film was great. But they gave so many awards to that movie 'Guess who's coming for dinner' where the main character is just a Mary Sue. I don't even mind they gave so many awards to In the Heat of the Night since it's a great film but the other one is a bad film."
Duke listened, his gaze still fixed on the headlines on the newspapers that talked about the winners of the 40th Oscar ceremony.
"Mike," Duke said, his voice calm and steady, a deliberate, engineered contrast to the frustrated tone on the other end of the line.
"Look past the headlines. Look at the numbers. Even the conversation, the way people are still talking about Benjamin Braddock. The Graduate is the better film. That statue last night?"
He gestured vaguely toward the empty shelf behind him without looking at it. "It has a date on it. It's for 1967. It's a piece of history, but i can assure you nobody will remember them in the future. Hell, most people probably didn't even know those movies existed before the Oscars."
He paused, "They gave you an award at least, lets hope on the next one I get something."
He could hear Nichols breathing on the other end, the anger slowly being replaced by a grudging acceptance. "You always see things that way, don't you? The long game."
"It's the only game that matters," Duke replied.
When he hung up, the quiet determination that had momentarily been shaken by the previous night's political theater had returned, but left just as quickly.
He needed to focus and build a company so vast, so culturally dominant, that the Academy's choices would be fair to it whether it wanted to or not.
---
The late-night silence on his office was heavy in the air, broken only by the scratch of a fountain pen on paper.
Before him lay a simple file marked "Hauser Veteran's Fund."
The $500,000 from his last year tax avoidance sat in a dedicated account, a symbolic gesture that had become an inactive asset. It was a monument to good intentions, gathering bureaucratic dust.
He pulled a fresh sheet of paper. At the top, he wrote: The Hauser House Foundation.
His pen moved with decisive strokes as he drafted the mission statement..
It was modeled on the efficient, high-impact charities he remembered from the future.
Mission: "To provide tangible, life-altering support to American veterans wounded in body or spirit during their service. The Foundation's primary focus will be the construction and provision of affordable, adaptive housing for disabled veterans and their families, facilitating a stable transition to civilian life. Secondary initiatives will address critical, immediate burdens, including the elimination of medically incurred debt."
It was specific. It was measurable. It dealt in concrete outcomes: a roof, a cleared balance sheet.
These were things that could not be spun or negotiated, and would greatly help veterans struggling with medical debt.
The biggest reason to go bankrupt in America is Medical debt, helping ease that and veteran homelessnes is the most important things for the charity.
The following morning, he summoned David Chen. He slid the single page across the desk. Chen read it with his usual calm, his eyes absorbing thewords.
"A significant and focused mandate," Chen observed, looking up. "To fulfill this mission with the speed and scale you imply, the capital must be put to work. It must move."
Duke nodded. "Explain."
"Holding the money in a low-yield account is inefficient. To build even a single, properly adapted home in California, accounting for land, materials, permits and labor, could consume a significant portion of the money immediately. We would then be left with diminished capacity for further projects. The model is just not sustainable for rapid deployment."
"So, we don't just spend it and we invest it," Duke stated, his mind latching onto the financial mechanics.
"Precisely," Chen said. "The foundation's capital is placed into a dedicated, conservatively managed investment portfolio. The returns from that portfolio become the consistent, renewable source of funding for our operations. The principal remains intact, growing over time, ensuring the foundation's longevity far beyond simple infusions of cash."
"And the initial projects?" Duke asked.
"We fund them from the principal, as a startup cost, with a clear plan to replenish from future returns. The first projects establishes our credibility and operational template. The investment engine ensures there is a second, a tenth, a hundredth project."
They spent the next hour architecting the entity. It would need its own board of directors. Duke would be the sole donor, but he would not sit on the board.
"It must be insulated," Duke said, a note of finality in his voice. "Completely. No operational ties to Ithaca. The board should be comprised of individuals with relevant expertise."
"Understood," Chen replied, making a note. "The foundation' actions cannot be construed as publicity for Ithaca, and conversely, Ithaca's business cannot jeopardize the foundation's work or tax status."
"Good." Duke said.
"Then let us design its rules," Chen said, pulling a fresh legal pad towards him. "Investment should be focused on low-risk, blue-chip stocks and bonds. A focus on steady dividends."
"We will draft the bylaws to strictly prohibit the use of funds for anything outside the stated mission. No political donations, no lobbying, no 'administrative overhead' that exceeds a strict percentage."
"The housing," Duke continued, leaning forward. "We don't just write checks. We acquire the land, we hire the architects and builders. The veteran receives the deed, free and clear. It's a transfer of an asset, not a temporary aid."
"And the medical debt?" Chen asked.
"We identify the debt. We negotiate with the hospitals or collection agencies, buying it for a fraction of its face value, as those agencies do, then we abolish it. A letter of release. Not much fanfare."
---
Short chapter, but another chapter is coming up in an hour.