“Yeah.
Why the hell not?” Levi shot back.
“If I can get in, I’m going.”
Don Quixote pulled another crumpled pack of cigarettes from his paint-stained jacket, lit one, and blew smoke toward the ceiling.
“Honestly… I still think you should be realistic about this.”
For a second Levi saw something in him give way.
The usual fight seemed to drain out.
“I’ve been watching you,” Don Quixote said quietly.
“Gym every day.
Burying your face in those AP books.
I’ve seen it for days now.”
“Yale and the rest of the Ivies aren’t for people like us,” he continued.
“Even if you test in, what does it actually get you?
You think a few extra AP classes or a high SAT score is gonna open the door?
You’re wrong, kid.
Dead wrong.”
Levi frowned.
Something was off with his uncle today.
Don Quixote had always been beaten down, but there used to be some spark left in him, some stubborn will to keep grinding.
Right now he looked hollowed out, slumped on the couch like someone had ripped his spine out, drowning himself in cheap liquor and smoke.
“You smoking too much?” Levi asked.
“I saw on TikTok that half the guys living like you end up hooked on something.”
“Yale wants kids who can donate a whole building,” Don Quixote muttered, ignoring him.
“The ones who fly to Africa to save white rhinos and worry about carbon emissions.
And even if you do get in, then what?
When you’re young you think you’ve got unlimited potential.
Nobody tells you how fast one wrong turn or one piece of bad luck can fuck everything.”
He pointed at himself.
“Look at me, Levi.
Do I look like a University of Chicago economics graduate to you?”
Levi stared.
University of Chicago’s economics department was basically sacred ground.
The Chicago School had produced over thirty Nobel laureates.
This guy?
“You don’t believe me?” Don Quixote gave a bitter laugh.
“Of course you don’t.
He took a hard drag and started coughing like he was trying to hack up a lung.
“That’s the first real thing I’ve told you, kid.
In this shithole of a world, even if you graduate from the best school, one wrong step, one bad break, or one ex-wife who wants to bleed you dry… and you end up living like a rat in the sewer.”
He crushed the cigarette out hard.
“So,” Levi said quietly, “this is about your ex-wife?”
Don Quixote didn’t answer.
“What did she send you this time that’s got you acting like a dead dog?”
Don Quixote’s head snapped up.
For a second his bloodshot eyes flashed with shame, then it drowned in exhaustion.
He pulled a crumpled court paper from his jacket and tossed it on the table.
“Lily needs five thousand for horse camp this summer,” Levi read.
“If you can’t pay, you lose visitation rights?”
“Jesus Christ,” he said, waving the paper.
“I get child support, but summer camp too?”
“American divorce law says you have to maintain the child’s standard of living,” Don Quixote said, taking another drink.
“Even after the split.
Honestly, if it wasn’t for my daughter I probably would’ve already overdosed in this basement.”
“Five thousand dollars…”
He stared at the table.
“I didn’t even know I had a cousin,” Levi said, raising an eyebrow.
“Tell me about her.”
“Her name’s Lily,” Don Quixote said, voice softening.
“She’s… she’s an angel.”
When he said her name his wrecked face changed.
For a moment he looked almost holy.
He pulled a carefully laminated photo from his wallet and held it out.
When Levi reached for it, Don Quixote’s fingers stayed clamped on the edge like he couldn’t let go.
Levi leaned in.
The picture showed a six- or seven-year-old girl with perfect clothes sitting on a small pony, smiling bright at the camera.
“I don’t have the money, Levi.
I really don’t,” Don Quixote said, eyes shut tight.
“I haven’t seen her in three months.
I drive past her house sometimes but I’m too ashamed to stop.
I look like shit.
I don’t even know if she’s okay.”
If he walked away now, Don Quixote would probably collapse completely.
Lose visitation and his last reason to stay alive, and it would be booze and drugs until he died in the street.
Levi sat down across from him and waited.
“What are you staring at?” Don Quixote muttered.
“Go ahead and laugh.
That bitch already laughed enough for both of you.”
That wasn’t it.
Levi was waiting for a quest to trigger.
After what felt like forever, he had to accept the truth.
Nothing was coming from the system.
“How much do you have right now?” Levi asked.
“How short are you on the five thousand?”
“About thirty-two hundred short,” Don Quixote said.
“You gonna help me?”
Levi thought for a second, went to his section, and came back with roughly four thousand in cash.
He counted out thirty-five hundred and put it on the table, keeping five hundred for himself.
“This should cover it,” he said.
“Go see your daughter.
Use the rest for some decent clothes, a shower, and take her somewhere nice to eat.”
Don Quixote stared at the money like it might disappear.
“Where the hell did you get this?
You join a gang?
Can you put in a good word for your uncle?”
“Rich women on the Upper East Side tip big,” Levi said.
“Get cleaned up.
Get a haircut.
I’ll recommend you go sell your ass.”
“Really?” Don Quixote’s face lit up.
“You think I could still move product at my age?”
Levi flipped him off while Don Quixote laughed.
“Thanks, kid,” Don Quixote said, suddenly looking lighter.
“Once I get away from that bitch and get custody back, when I’m back on my feet I’ll pay you back.
I swear.”
“You already said that,” Levi replied flatly.
“Last night.”
“Last night?” Don Quixote looked confused.
“I said that?”