"And one more thing—another annual Royal Charity Reception will be held soon. I'll cover the expenses for that myself. But until then, Richard, it would be better for you to establish yourself as a philanthropist."
"Alright… So, do you have any specific suggestions?"
"For example, Richie, you could help orphaned children."
"Fine, no problem," Richard agreed.
In truth, the transmigrator wasn't particularly eager to part with his money, but he understood that among the elite, this was simply how things were done. If you were wealthy but not a philanthropist, people looked at you askance. Besides, charitable giving offered small but pleasant benefits when it came to taxes. Donation amounts could be deducted from taxable income as a form of tax relief. And if one made annual donations for three consecutive years, the total sum spent on charity could be deducted from the taxes due in the fourth year.
For example, Gerald Grosvenor spent at least fifty thousand pounds on charity every year. First, that amount wasn't counted as income. Second, in the fourth year he paid one hundred and fifty thousand pounds less in taxes—meaning the money was effectively returned to him.
Richard knew all this, so he decided to increase his donation to fifty thousand pounds. The key was to continue donating over the next three years in order to get the money back.
"Richie, I'll make arrangements with a foundation that helps orphaned children. But for the first time—so that your efforts don't go unnoticed—you'll need to be personally involved."
"I don't quite follow," Richard frowned. "Dad, what kind of involvement? I give money to the foundation, and they spend it on designated needs. Isn't that how it works?"
"It is, son, but you have to understand—if you just give the money, no one will know about it. That's why you'll need to visit a couple of orphans and personally oversee the targeted assistance. Then the newspapers will write that young Lord Grosvenor is engaged in charity work and helping orphans. That will reflect positively both on your reputation and on our family's."
"So what, I'll be visiting orphans alone?"
"No, no, Richie," Gerald said with a good-natured chuckle. "Of course not. A representative of the charity foundation will be there with you, along with a social worker, a journalist, John, and a driver-bodyguard."
"Well… wow," Richard drawled skeptically. "I can just imagine how 'happy' the kids will be when a whole crowd comes barging in. Fine—I agree to everything."
"Excellent!" Gerald exclaimed, slapping his palms against his thighs. "I knew you'd understand how important and necessary this is."
"Dad, I've decided I'll spend fifty thousand pounds on charity. Not dollars."
"Very well, I'll take that into account. Be ready, son—I'll try to arrange the visit for this Saturday."
***
Saturday arrived surprisingly quickly. As early as Friday, Richie had come to London and stayed at the house at 70 Grosvenor Street. It was a matter of necessity—the visits to the orphans were to take place in the suburbs of the capital.
The bedroom door flew open, and John appeared on the threshold. As always, he was wearing a perfectly tailored three-piece suit.
The valet immediately noticed that his charge was already awake and said in an exaggeratedly cheerful tone,
"Good morning, Master Richie. What a wonderful day. A reminder that you have a charity visit scheduled in two hours. So please get up and wash up promptly. Today we'll be doing your exercises without a trainer, and then breakfast will be served."
"I'm getting up, John."
Richard headed for the bathroom. From there, he called out,
"John, how will the rest of our entourage be getting there?"
"The journalist will travel with us, sir. The social worker will be driven in they own car by the charity foundation's representative. First on the list is a visit to the town of Little Whinging, on the outskirts of London."
"I don't recall a town like that, but the name sounds painfully familiar," Richie replied. "Couldn't the foundation have chosen orphans who live closer by?"
"I presume, Master Richie," the valet replied primly, "that there is little sense in helping orphans who live in central London. They are already provided with everything they need."
"And what's so special about this Little Whinging?"
"The charity specialist mentioned that complaints had been received from neighbors—apparently, a foster child in one of the families looks… out of place for the family's status."
"In what sense?" Richard's gaze, directed from the bathroom toward the bedroom where the valet stood, was full of confusion.
"I'm sorry, Master Richie, but I can't say for certain. It seems the family has a biological son who appears better fed and better dressed, while the foster child, by comparison, looks like a scrawny waif in hand-me-downs."
"And why do we need such a complicated case?" Richard asked in surprise.
"Sir, as I understand it, helping a child from a troubled family like this one will resonate more strongly in the media. In other words, it will reflect more favorably on your image as a philanthropist than an ordinary visit to a foster family."
(End of Chapter)
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