“I guess that’s what happens,” Jameson said, his eyes never leaving mine as his lips curled upward, “when you take a very risky gamble.”
ONE YEAR LATER…
I’m here today with Avery Grambs. Heiress. Philanthropist. World changer—and at only nineteen years old. Avery, tell us, what is it like to be in your position at such a young age?”
I’d prepared for this question and for every question the interviewer might ask. She was the only one I’d granted an interview to in the past year, a media maven whose name was synonymous with savvy and success—and, more importantly, a humanitarian herself.
“Fun?” I answered, and she chuckled. “I don’t mean to sound cavalier,” I said, projecting the sincerity I felt. “I am fully aware that I am pretty much the luckiest person on the planet.”
Landon had told me that the art to an interview like this one—intimate, much anticipated, with an interviewer who was almost as much of a draw as I was—was to make it sound like a conversation, to make the audience feel like we were just two women talking. Honest. Open.
“And the thing is,” I continued, the awe in my voice echoing through the room in Hawthorne House where the interview was taking place, “it never really becomes normal. You don’t just get used to it.”
Here in this room, which the staff had taken to calling the Nook, it was easy to feel awed. The Nook was small by Hawthorne House standards, but every aspect of it, from the repurposed wood floors to the ridiculously comfortable reading chairs, bore my mark.
“You can go anywhere,” the interviewer said, quietly matching the awe in my voice. “Do anything.”
“And I have,” I said. Built-in shelves lined the Nook’s walls. Every place I went, I found a keepsake—a reminder of the adventures I’d had there. Art, a book in the local language, a stone from the ground, something that had spoken to me.
“You’ve gone everywhere, done everything…” The interviewer smiled knowingly. “With Jameson Hawthorne.”
Jameson Winchester Hawthorne.
“You’re smiling,” she told me.
“You would, too,” I told her, “if you knew Jameson.” He was exactly what he’d always been—a thrill chaser, a sensation seeker, a risk taker—and he was so much more.
“How did he react when he found out that you were giving so much of the family’s fortune away?”
“He was shocked at first,” I admitted. “But after that, it became a game—to all of them.”
“All the Hawthornes?”
I tried not to smile too big this time. “All the boys.”
“The boys, as in the Hawthorne brothers. Half the world is in love with them—now more than ever.”
That wasn’t a question, so I didn’t answer.
“You said that after the shock of your decision wore off, giving away the money became a game to the Hawthorne brothers?”
Everything’s a game, Avery Grambs. The only thing we get to decide in this life is if we play to win. “We’re in a race against the clock to find the right causes and the right organizations to give the money to,” I explained.
“You set up your foundation with the stipulation that all of the money had to be gone in five years. Why?”
That was more of a softball question than she realized. “Big changes require big actions,” I said. “Hoarding the money and doling it out slowly over time never felt like the right call.”
“So you put out a call—for experts.”
“Experts,” I confirmed. “Academics, people with boots on the ground—and even just people with big ideas. We had open applications for spots on the board, and there are more than a hundred of us working at the foundation now. Our team includes everyone from Nobel Prize and MacArthur genius award winners to humanitarian leaders, medical professionals, domestic abuse survivors, incarcerated persons, and a full dozen activists under the age of eighteen. Together, we work to generate and evaluate action plans.”
“And review proposals.” The interviewer kept the same thoughtful tone. “Anyone can submit a proposal to the Hannah the Same Backward as Forward Foundation.”
“Anyone,” I confirmed. “We want the best ideas and the best people. You can be anyone, from anywhere. You can feel like you’re no one. We want to hear from you.”
“Where did you get the name for the foundation?”
I thought of Toby, of my mom. “That,” I told the whole world watching, “is a mystery.”
“And speaking of mysteries…” The shift in tone told me that we were about to get serious. “Why?”
The interviewer let that question hang in the air, then continued.
“Why, having been left one of the largest fortunes in the world, would you give almost all of it away? Are you a saint?”
I snorted, which probably wasn’t a good look with millions watching, but I couldn’t help it. “If I were a saint,” I said, “do you really think I would have kept two billion dollars for myself?” I shook my head, my hair escaping from behind my shoulders as I did. “Do you understand how much money that is?”
I wasn’t being combative, and I hoped my tone made that clear.
“I could spend a hundred million dollars a year,” I explained, “every year for the rest of my life, and there’s still a good chance that I would have more money when I died than I have right now.”
Money made money—and the more of it you had, the higher the rate of return.
“And frankly,” I said, “I can’t spend a hundred million dollars a year. Literally can’t! So, no, I’m not a saint. If you really think about it, I’m pretty selfish.”
“Selfish,” she repeated. “Giving away twenty-eight billion dollars? Ninety-four percent of all your assets, and you think people should be asking why you’re not doing more?”
“Why not?” I said. “Someone told me once that fortunes like this one—at a certain point, it’s not about the money, because you couldn’t spend billions if you tried. It’s about the power.” I looked down. “And I just don’t think anyone should have power like that, certainly not me.”
I wondered if Vincent Blake was watching—or Eve, or any of the other high rollers I’d met since inheriting.
“And the Hawthorne family was really okay with that?” The interviewer asked. She wasn’t combative, either. Just curious and deeply empathetic. “The boys? Grayson Hawthorne has dropped out of Harvard. Jameson Hawthorne has had brushes with the law on at least three continents in the past six months. It was recently reported that Xander Hawthorne is working as a mechanic.”
Xander was working with Isaiah—both at his shop and on several pieces of new technology that they were very excited about. Grayson had dropped out of Harvard to turn the full force of his mind to the project of giving the money away. And the only reason Jameson had been arrested—or almost arrested—so many times was that he couldn’t turn down dares.
Specifically, mine.
The only reason I hadn’t made similar headlines was that I was better at not getting caught.