He pointed to the seat.
“Please sit down.”
I went inside, still confused.
The door closed quietly behind me.
“Why were you asking people for food?” I asked.
He crossed his hands calmly.
“Because once a year, I like to remember what the world is like from the earth.”
“That sounds like proof.”
“In a way, it is.”
He looked out the window briefly.
“Yesterday I asked for help from more than twenty people.”
“How many helped you?” I asked.
“You did it.”
I moved in the seat.
“It was just half a snack.”
“But that was all you had.”
He looked at me carefully.
“That matters.”
I hesitated.
“So… why am I here?”
He smiled.
“My name is Charles Whitmore. I own Whitmore Development Group.”
I still had no idea what that meant.
But the way the driver straightened up a little when he said it told me it was a big thing.
Whitmore continued, “I grew up in poverty, Mike. I slept in my car when I was nineteen. I built my first company from scratch.”
He leaned a little forward.
