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“Date?
Ha!” Don Quixote snorted.
“I’m done wasting time on women, kid.”
“Today’s your big day,” he continued.
“I’m taking you somewhere.
Introducing you to someone.”
“Who?”
“An old classmate.
Used to work together.
He owes me a serious favor.”
Levi didn’t fully get why his uncle was dragging him along, but Don Quixote clearly had a reason.
He kept his mouth shut and went with it.
They drove out of Brooklyn toward Midtown.
The buildings got taller, the streets tighter.
The noise grew louder with every block.
Manhattan was a steel jungle.
Towers packed so close the wind howled between them.
Car horns, voices, and traffic bounced off the glass and concrete until the whole city felt like one giant echo chamber.
The beat-up Toyota finally stopped in front of a skyscraper on Park Avenue.
“JPMorgan Chase?” Levi looked up at the massive building.
“Your classmate’s doing alright.”
“Looks fancy from the outside,” Don Quixote muttered, checking his reflection in the rearview one last time.
“He’s doing more than alright.
Heard he made partner.”
He grabbed a sleek black gift bag with the Montblanc logo from the back seat.
They walked into the lobby dressed like they belonged among the suits rushing past.
The receptionist’s eyes lit up when she saw Levi’s face, then dropped to his cheap clothes and the spark died.
Don Quixote knocked on the counter.
“I’m here to see Julian Wagner.”
A few minutes later they were on the 48th floor.
The air smelled like expensive coffee, cologne, and money.
Golden sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning Central Park into a glowing green carpet far below.
In a huge corner office, Levi met Julian.
He looked at least ten years younger than Don Quixote.
Perfectly tailored navy suit, hair slicked back, skin that said money and good skincare.
“Jesus Christ,” Julian said, walking around his desk.
How long has it been?
Ten years?
Nine?”
“Twelve, Julian.” Don Quixote handed over the gift bag.
“Brought you something.”
Julian opened it and pulled out the Montblanc pen.
He slid it into a cup already full of other expensive pens without much thought.
“Thanks, Don.
Sit.
What are you drinking?
I’ve got a collector’s Macallan set I picked up at Christie’s—”
“I’m good,” Don Quixote said, waving it off.
“Look at me.
Macallan would be wasted.”
“You used to drink with me every night after work,” Julian said, sitting across from him.
“And this is…?”
He looked at Levi.
Quick scan.
No expression.
“My nephew.
Levi.
I’m his guardian now,” Don Quixote said.
“Julian, I need a favor.
A recommendation letter.”
“A recommendation letter?
From me?” Julian glanced at Levi again.
“For Yale?”
Levi caught the flicker in Julian’s eyes.
Same look the Latino guy at the gym had given him earlier.
“Considering I took the fall for you back then,” Don Quixote said evenly, “writing one letter shouldn’t be that hard.”
Julian raised both hands.
“Alright, alright.
I get it.
I just meant my letter alone probably won’t get him in.”
“That’s our problem,” Don Quixote said.
“I’ll handle the rest.”
Levi started to speak but Don Quixote shot him a look.
“Listen, Don.
I know I owe you.
I’ve been waiting for you to ask,” Julian said. Get faster updates on g.com.
“I just figured you’d want money or something.” He glanced at Don Quixote’s pale face and the way the old suit hung on him.
“You sold blood for that pen, didn’t you?
Even if he gets into Yale, who’s paying?
You?
Student loans?
We both know how this works.”
“I already told you.
That’s our business,” Don Quixote said, staring him down.
“So are you writing it or not?”
“I’ll write it.
Today.
My assistant will mail it tomorrow.
Good enough?”
Don Quixote gave him the address and they left.
On the drive back, Levi finally spoke.
“You sold blood for that pen?”
“Sometimes I still do,” Don Quixote said, lighting a cheap cigarette one-handed.
“That’s how you survive in New York.
Don’t think I did it just for you.”
He took a drag.
“And that’s not just any pen, kid.
Montblanc 146.
Eighteen-karat gold nib.
Over eight hundred bucks.”
“You didn’t have to do all that for me,” Levi said.
“I already told you.
I’m getting into Yale through football.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Don Quixote muttered, clearly not believing a word.
“I believe you.”
Levi looked at his uncle’s pale lips and tired face.
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
“I know you want to say thank you,” Don Quixote said without looking over.
“Save the sappy shit.
We don’t need it.”
He flicked ash out the window.
“You’re dead set on Yale?
Then we’ll figure it out together.”
He finally glanced at Levi.
“I’m your elder.
I got your back.”