Marine Corps Stories: Thoughtful Charity

The drone whizzed out of view. I heard the package drop as I stood inside the foyer in my blue and white pajamas. I stepped outside the door of my Newark, Delaware home. The package was no more than the size of the box in which a laptop is shipped.

I looked around the neighborhood. I waved to Mrs. Avery watering her red roses. I retired to my household and locked the door behind me.

I reached for my boxcutter and sliced away the tape. It was like butter the way the blade just slid through the sticky substance. I unpacked the contents and found something spectacular. It was a picture of my grandfather in his United States Marine Corps Enlisted Blue Dress uniform. His face was straight and brown. Eyes looked like fury and smarts all the way.

My wife Corinth Apody walked into the kitchen. She was a vision of comfortable beauty. Her blond hair wasn’t done, no make up, and she still stood as a ten. Angular cheekbones and gray eyes and ivory white skin completed the masterpiece of her presence.

“What’s that?” she yawned.

“It’s a portrait of my Pop. I never got to meet him. I just saw other picturee of him. He never came home from the war.”

“He was killed in action?”

“No, he just decided not to come back to the States. He lived in Switzerland for years.”

“Let me see the picture.” I handed her the portrait.

“He’s cuter than you!”

“Shut up!”

“No, he’s almost as handsome as you,” she said, kissing the top of my short Afro.

She flipped it over to the back and saw a short slip of paper sticking out a bit.

“There’s something behind the picture,” she remarked.

“What is it?” I queried.

She pushed open the silver leaf to reveal a certificate. I clutched it in my hands. It came with a letter. I read aloud to my bride.

“This letter is addressed to Porter Apody. You have been designated the recipient of the tontine that is enclosed with it. USMC Sergeant Major Dallas Bills was the last surviving member. He hopes you cherish every single cent that he left to you.”

The certificate fell to the floor. Corinth picked up the sheet of paper.

She read to herself. She clutched her breast. Her worry lines in her forehead became apparent and she began to sob uncontrollably. She ran off into the bedroom and slammed the door.

“What?! What?!” I exclaimed. Then I lifted the certificate. It read six hundred billion dollars. I jumped out of the chair and looked at the severe face of my ancestor.

“Six hundred billion dollars?! We can buy the world with this money!” I had to think about this. I could still hear Corinth crying in our bedroom.

I punched at the air and said “Whoo!” with a fist pumping in the air like a golfer who just sunk a hole in one. I ran to Corinth.

She was no longer weeping. She was in full dance mode. She asked the digital assistant Simon to play her Happy Playlist. I stopped her mid slide.

“Babe, we’ve got to think about this. This is not a lot of money, this a LOT of money! But we must be prepared. We have to figure out who sent it.”

“You’re right,” she replied, wiping away tears. “We have to discover whoever put this on our doorstep.”

We returned to the kitchen. I carefully slid the portrait out to grasp the knowledge of the sender.

“It says here Pop Dallas had become friends with some Swiss billionaires and they included him in a high stakes tontine despite his meager contributions. They said, ‘Okay, if you outlast us, you get the loot,’” I announced. “Go ahead, Pop.”

“We’ve got to give this to charity,” Corinth stated.

“I agree, the tax-deduction will still be in the tens of billions.”

“It’s got to be some African charity, though. Some low-down, group of guttersnipes startup without a penny,” she said.

“Okay, no.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because if I’m giving all of this away, it’s going to a good cause.”

“African charities with no resources or proper infrastructure should be the first in line for this kind of dough,” Corinth retorted.

“Who did I marry? What about the top tier charities? I mean we can save this to ourselves and that would be rational and selfish and good. But we both agree on charity and that is rational and selfish and good, too. We’re never going to “give back” or even “pay forward.” We’re reaping spiritual profits from trading with a worthy for profit charitable organization. The main difference is that the charity you speak of is completely irrational.”

“So, you’re saying I’m not using reason?”

“Not now. You’ve always contributed to charities that benefit us. That African organization is going to either steal it for the administrators, use it incompetently, or have it stolen.”

“Okay. Let’s not fight,” Corinth breathed. “What do you suggest?”

“I think we should give it to an institute, somewhere that advances reason, individualism, and capitalism.”

I looked at the certificate once more. It had instructions to visit the app to see the money on my smartphone. After entering all the metadata, I looked at the six and all of the zeroes. I showed the phone to Corinth. I had to hold it horizontally for her to see the full figure.

“If that’s your choice, babe, I’m riding with it. Whatever thoughtful charity that’s as rational and selfish as we are, I’m all about it,” Corinth responded.

I kissed her neck with little pecks.