Chapter 9 - The Final Count
Three years later.
In the quiet, high-ceilinged corner office on the forty-second floor of the Weller Fulfillment Center in Chicago, the afternoon light was fading over Lake Michigan.
Malcolm Weller sat in his large leather chair. He was seventy years old now, officially retired from day-to-day corporate operations, serving only as Chairman Emeritus.
On his desk lay three open folders: the annual report for the Serenity Fund, a copy of the Astronomical Journal, and a letter from the admissions department of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.
The office door clicked open quietly.
June Ellison, sixteen years old, walked in. She was dressed in a simple dark suit, carrying a backpack over one shoulder.
Malcolm looked up, his face instantly breaking into a broad, genuine smile. "June. You made it from the airport."
"The Chicago traffic was a logistical nightmare," June said smoothly, dropping her backpack onto an armchair. "Your dispatch coordinator should really optimize the routing along I-90."
Malcolm let out a rich laugh. "I'll tell Howard to issue a corrective memo immediately."
June walked over to his desk and set a heavy, cream-colored letter on the blotter.
Malcolm picked it up.
At the top of the page was the official crest of MIT—Department of Earth, Atmospheric, and Planetary Sciences.
Dear Miss Ellison,It is our distinct pleasure to inform you that you have been admitted to the Undergraduate Class with a full Trustees Fellowship in Astrophysics...
Malcolm read the letter slowly, his hand holding the paper with quiet reverence.
"Full fellowship," Malcolm whispered softly. "They didn't even wait for the regular admission cycle."
"The Dean of Admissions said my paper on lunar impact crater degradation was 'unusually precise,'" June said, sitting in the chair across from him. "He asked who taught me my observational methodology."
"And what did you tell him?" Malcolm asked.
"I told him I had a very strict logistics manager who didn't tolerate quality variance," June replied with a sharp smile.
Malcolm set the letter down beside the hand-drawn construction-paper card June had sent him eight years ago—the card that still sat in his top desk drawer.
He looked at her for a long moment, seeing the scared, quiet little girl in the stretched red sweater who had sat on the gym bleachers counting empty spaces.
"June," Malcolm said quietly. "Do you remember the night at Briar Glen?"
"Every word," she said.
"How many gifts did you count?"
June smiled softly, looking out the floor-to-ceiling window at the vast, endless blue horizon of Lake Michigan.
"I counted thirty-seven gifts," June said. "And thirty-eight children."
May you like
She looked back at Malcolm, her eyes bright with endless gratitude and love.
"And then I counted you."
