Chapter 9 - The Foundation's Growth
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Audrey’s project, the Open Door Fund, grew faster than she anticipated.
The need was staggering.
Within a year, they had partnered with three domestic violence shelters and two legal aid clinics.
She called me one evening, sounding exhausted but energized.
“We got a grant, Dad.”
“A big one?”
“Six figures.”
“That’s incredible.”
“It is. But it means we have to expand. We need a dedicated physical space. An office, a secure intake center.”
“You can handle that.”
“I know. But I need someone to manage the renovation. Someone who knows contractors. Someone who knows how to make a building secure.”
She paused.
“Someone who might be looking for a hobby.”
I smiled.
“You’re manipulating me.”
“I learned from the best.”
“I don't manipulate.”
“You orchestrate. Same thing.”
I sighed.
“Where’s the building?”
“Downtown. An old warehouse.”
“It’ll need a lot of work.”
“That’s why I need you.”
I hesitated.
It wasn't that I didn't want to help.
But working for my daughter felt like a shift in our dynamic.
“I’ll look at the plans,” I said.
“Thank you.”
The next day, I drove downtown to meet her.
The warehouse was a mess.
Exposed brick, broken windows, a leaking roof.
But I saw what she saw.
Potential.
Space.
Light.
She unrolled the blueprints on a makeshift table.
“Here’s the intake area. Private rooms. Soundproofed.”
She pointed to the back.
“This is the secure wing. Temporary housing for high-risk cases. It needs to be impenetrable.”
I traced the lines on the paper.
“You’ll need reinforced doors. Impact-resistant glass. An independent security system that doesn't rely on the municipal grid.”
Audrey nodded, taking notes.
“Can you manage it?”
I looked around the dusty, empty space.
Then I looked at my daughter.
May you like
She was building a fortress, not a prison.
“Yes,” I said. “I can manage it.”
