The annual SnowCorp charity gala was the place to be, Manhattan’s elite filling the heart of the

city with the tallest ballroom and its excesses. There were politicians, CEOs, and celebrities,

sipping champagne, mingling beneath crystal chandeliers, and chatting About power plays over

hors d'oeuvre. John Snow, CEO of SnowCorp, the host of the event was a man who thrives in

such an environment. He was dressed in a sleek, custom-tailored tuxedo, his eyes sweeping the

room coolly detached. At 33 years old, he had built a billion-dollar tech empire and was proud of

it and he wore it on his sleeve, maybe with a bit of arrogant swagger. Well nothing about him

was about what I expected, he was all about wealth, and a hell of a lot of it was earned.

One attendee stood apart in all the glitz and glamour. Standing in a simple, yet elegant dress

chosen more for modesty than for style, Emma Brooks eyes the grandeur of the occasion. As an

employee of a non-profit that provides donations for homeless families, she can only volunteer to

network with possible donors to help support her organization. Small fundraisers in community

centers were her thing, so events that were held in a high-rise building with marble floors, and

golden accents — she was not prepared for. She looked a little out of place, slipping through the

crowd quietly, as she reminded herself why she was there.

It was electric, as were their paths crossing. Emma happened to be on her way to the stage for

John's opening speech when he brushed past her. He had no idea and her elbow caught and

pulled him back with just a slight jolt. He turned, in preparations to ignore an overeager guest.

Instead, Emma’s wide, startled eyes were flushed with embarrassment and met him.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” 'Quickly' she said, her face turning a deeper shade of red, releasing his

sleeve. “I didn’t mean to—”

John interrupted, his tone polite, but clipped, ‘It’s fine.’ He flicked a gaze at her a bit more

broadly, noting her understated attire. Either she wasn’t part of the usual crowd he played with,

or she reminded him of one of those customs he had heard about less often. He asked out of habit

more than out of interest, “Having fun?”

It was a wry smile Emma gave. “Well, it’s... different. Well, I don’t usually come to these kinds

of things.” Immediately, John caught the slight tone of irony she spoke with.

“Different?” He raised an eyebrow. “I am sure this would be quite an event for most people.”

She gave a light laugh. “I don’t suppose I am ‘most people,’” said he. She didn’t appear to be

intimidated; her eyes would not budge from him, unflinching, which just told him she wasn’t. “I

was here actually just to promote our non-profit work,” she said her voice softening. “Change the

life of a homeless person to one of stability; to offer the homeless the chance to start a family; to

give families a fresh start.” I guess... “It was not usually my circle to move in.”

John was started though he kept it out of his eyes. He was accustomed to people being blown

away by him, waiting to hear about his success and his money. This was this woman, talking to

him about her work as if he really cared, simply because he didn't. On almost questioning it, he

asked, 'And do you get that work — rewarding?'

“Very,” Emma answered without questioning. Steady, she tilted her head. “Don’t you think

there’s more to life than getting a paycheck?”

Her words hung in the air between them, a challenge not said out loud very often, but one that

had John’s jaw in a knot, and she intrigued him. No one had asked him like that, not very long

ago, not someone like her. He turned coolly and answered for some of us, “Wealth isn’t just a

paycheck.' It’s freedom, it’s power. It’s... security.”

A trace of pity passed across Emma’s face, but she made it disappear instantly. But it’s fleeting,

she responded. “That’s what makes it last: what you do with that wealth.”

Her response struck a chord. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be; people didn’t question

him, especially on his values. The unshakable king of his own empire was known, but here was a

woman, a stranger, who would not be daunted by his reputation, not his power. She wasn’t here

to be impressed by him... or something?

He smiled faintly at that ‘Interesting perspective.’ He extended his hand. “John Snow.”

She shook his hand firmly; her grip was warm and steady, “Emma Brooks.”

When they split, John felt like Emma was... different. When she’d looked at him in a room full

of people who would’ve given their right arm for his attention, she’d never made him feel so

irrelevant. It left a mark he wasn’t expecting.

Emma gave one last look at John from across the room, satisfied that he could see it. She might

not have all the wealth and power, but she wasn’t going to let him scare her. They had no idea

that would be the start of something that would, in ways neither could have even imagined,

change each and every part of their lives.

John Snow’s world of luxury was crafted almost to perfection, built on the labor of a life far

from luxurious. The penthouse overlooked the busy city of Manhattan, a building of glass and

steel built with treasures from all over the world: one-of-a-kind artworks, handcrafted

furnishings, and examples of sculptures that spoke of exclusivity. These were not things to John;

they were symbols of his triumph, physical reminders of every sacrifice, sleepless night, and

ruthless decisions that made his way to wealth and power.

The penthouse was itself an almost fortress, built to leach the world – and any threat to it – out.

There were floor-to-ceiling windows with a sweeping view of New York, but John often felt like

he was above it all, detached. His day-to-day was a carousel, high-end meetings, business deals,

and society events, moving in the same circle as Manhattan’s elite, shielded by perceived aloof

untouchable social stature. Very few people really knew him, and people respected him, people

feared him, but John wanted it to stay that way. His armor was his success, and though he'd wear

it with pride, he would never care to tear it off to dismiss anyone who dared question the length

he put into gaining wealth as naïve or weak.

The world Emma Brooks lived in was so far removed from the one I was posting in it might as

well have been on another planet. She rented a little modest apartment in a quiet neighborhood

far from the sparkling towers of Manhattan. Secondhand furniture, photos, and handmade gifts

that people she had helped in her years. John’s world was organized meticulously while Emma’s

world was a mish-mash of mismatched, treasured items, now stories and memories. She had

lived simply; her life was fueled by something quite different from profit margin, luxury

branding.

Emma worked for a non-profit that worked with homeless families; she coordinated resources

and organized food drives and job training workshops. At times, she was on her feet all day and

found juggling several tasks, stretching limited funds, and giving more than she’d probably

should. Happiness, however, was not about her things, the new lives she helped create, the

children reunited with their parents or the families whose new hope depended on her. But she

drove herself half to death trying to make ends meet and without music money couldn’t buy that

sense of fulfillment something John’s world just couldn’t comprehend.

If perhaps their paths happened to cross like two opposing forces had crashed. You didn't have

too many of them, so you knew their true purpose, and you knew in turn to appreciate them, and

that's what drew John to Emma's warmth, Emma's sense of purpose, for what it is, without lots of

them herself. They all time had more in their world than that. This was a woman who wasn’t

here more than he had and didn’t seem to need what he had. She didn’t care about his wealth or

his status, it confused him and fascinated her.

John didn’t want a mirror, he got a reflection, who he’d never cared about, never thought about.

She simply couldn’t be, even to challenge his beliefs or even to hold a point of view so foreign to

him. This was the first time where he questioned exactly why he was so successful compared to

others and if he was successful at all. He thought maybe he'd be lucky and lose it all tomorrow

and have nothing. Was there really no more to life than those boardroom victories and adding to

his net worth?

Emma had a wobbly view, however, of John. Success was a weapon, wealth, a badge; he was the

example of the type of person she had always clung to as quietly resenting: allegedly, a

successful person who was mutilated through contentment. She didn’t know why someone

would value something blindly when there were people still alive and living in so much pain.

She didn’t have any intentions to stay away but she was attracted towards him. John gave her the

odd flicker of something vulnerable, something she hadn’t expected with John.

It was curious Emma should be curious at first, and not admire, for John was so unacquainted.

She saw glimpses of humanity and her feelings changed. In her presence, he let down his guard,

the fleeting, the almost inadvertent authenticity. He wasn’t always an impenetrable tycoon, but

he had been a man, and a prisoner to his wealth as others are to their poverty, Emma could see

now.

They were, undoubtedly and sometimes, impossibly, different. John didn’t understand how

anyone could even exist with that little and be okay; Emma didn’t understand how anyone could

willingly forfeit humanity, community, compassion for profit, and power. There were moments

when she simply couldn’t be drawn into his world, success, the lifestyle of his life, and the

opportunity to actually be able to make a difference on a mass scale. She knew however that if

she took that step into that world that she would risk everything she loved about herself.

John would have to grasp a kind of success entirely new to Emma. He began to doubt himself,

and the drive to be rich and of vacuousness went along with it. Until Emma lived his life, he was

always under the impression that money would solve every problem. Maybe this was true wealth

— what was true wealth in things, in power, in the ability to open up one's door and help

someone to whom there is no price.

It became their duet – Emma’s insistent challenge to his values versus John’s need to wield

whatever control he could, over whatever, every time. They frustrated and fascinated each other,

anyway, making it necessary for the other to differ in seeing life. As fractured as their thoughts

and culture, their acrimonious clash of assets could never meld them together ... until the grief of

needing to come together forced them to remember where they came from – two worlds that

were never supposed to join.

But in all of their many arguments, they couldn't untangle what Emma said. In turn, Emma was

hooked on John’s masked complexity, wondering what all that heartfelt must be hiding: Couldn’t

have been worth the money for him. Their worlds were opposite, but yes, maybe the difference

between their worlds was the seed of something neither could bear themselves to understand yet.

The air was bitter and the sky could have been labeled appropriately as New York by an

unseasonably cold afternoon. John Snow was most comfortable with skyscrapers and

boardrooms and rarely, if ever, took any interest in community events. But he was, standing at

the edge of a bustling community center on the Lower East Side, more out of place here than

he'd ever been in his own city. My colleague made a point of attending, not so much because I

was allowed to do so, but because supporting SnowCorp symbolizes positive optics, extending

local initiatives. However, if he were being honest with himself, he wasn’t there for the

company. Not this time.

Looking around he found her, Emma Brooks, skimming through a crowd of families with a

warm smile on her face. Sesh was enough beautiful, but her beauty was something deeper than

beauty like that. But the way she would bend down to listen sincerely to a young mother’s

concerns, the way that she would hold a child’s hand and laugh with them like they’d known

each other all their lives. She was radiance, definitely not from makeup or nice clothes, but from

her authentic kindness and compassion. John had always believed that in a world like that, the

only lights were from success and wealth, and she was one.

John was watching her and his usual confidence began to fade; a strange pang stirring in him.

She was a woman, apparently, with no notion of ambition for material wealth, no evidence of

striving for a material end that preoccupied his world, and yet she had the look of somebody who

had accomplished everything. Her joy was in the small things, in the small connections she made

with all the people around her, with all that she touched; and it found him uncharacteristically

captivated.

She heard a pair of eyes on her and glanced up to see John. Before her, surprise flickered in her

eyes, before she smiled at him gently, warmly. It was a smile, a simple smile, a smile with no

guile or hidden intention, something he, for some reason, couldn’t explain. He couldn’t

remember anyone smiling at him like this before, with this honesty, no calculation present. She

waved but gestured for him to come over.

His feet moved even though he was hesitant, out of his element almost and almost following her

feet. Now, as he was coming up to her she greeted him pleasantly, “Well, this is a surprise.” I

didn’t expect to find you here, I thought.”

Scratching the back of his neck he chuckled, a bit awkwardly. “Yeah, well... I certainly didn’t

think I’d be here.” He stood still, looking her in the face. “So I guess it’s good to get out of my

comfort zone now and then.”

It looked as if Emma’s eyes twinkled with a look of knowing. “Being thirty stories up and in

your own comfort zone, with the entire city to see it.”

A little taken aback, he smiled. “Something like that.” He looked over the ‘lively’ scene around –

people laughing, kids running, volunteers shooting food and supplies. The world was chaotic,

imperfect, and, for some reason, unbelievably warm—a warmth he didn’t feel on his own at all.

This... this is what you do?”

She gave a soft reply, 'No,' all the time.' “They’re the ones that keep me doing what I do.”

Everyone here has a struggle, a story. I think there’s a beauty in that honesty, they’re real, raw,

don’t you?”

He didn’t know how to respond. He wanted to spew something smart, something cutting, but his

words never left his lips. He went a slightly different approach saying “I don’t think I’ve ever

really... thought of it that way.”

With a trace of curiosity in her gaze, Emma looked at him. “Maybe you should.” Her tone gave

no judgment just a gentle encouragement, as if she were asking him to take a glimpse at her

world, to give him a view that was so completely foreign to his." Then, 'You know,' she says,

'not everything of value in life has dollars to sell or buy.' Some things are just... felt.”

And her words sat between them, and they stood in silence, in the foreign space of how close

they felt. As the CEO, mighty, surrounded by wealth and luxury, how petty and exposed to feel

in the company of a woman who had yet to be afflicted with these things, but who seemed, in

their absence, to have everything.

He began, ‘Emma... how... how do you find happiness in this all?' He gestured around, at the

chipped paint on the walls, the people who, unlike him, were clawing to make ends meet. “How

can you be so... content?”

Emma’s smile lightened and she reached out, tugging on his arm. Shit, that was such a small

gesture, but it sent some kind of a jolt through him, an unexpected warmth spreading from the

point of contact. ‘It’s not about what you have,’ she said to him, looking up at him through deep

eyes. It’s about who you really are, it’s about what you’re actually willing to give. Happiness

isn’t something you get; happiness is something you give. That’s where true wealth lies,” and if

you ask me.”

That resonated with something he had buried, a vague memory of when things were less

successful, his own childhood before he'd become successful before he'd built walls around his

heart to protect himself from just the vulnerabilities that his presence so exploited. He looked

away, some strange sense of inadequacy coursing through his head, as if, despite all his money,

he was the one who should have been left with nothing.

The crowd around them receded into the background, and in that moment there were only the

two of them, standing in the middle of what he didn’t understand, but that he now badly did. He

coughed to clear his throat of this tightness in his chest. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like

you, Emma,’ he said, his voice so small he barely could be heard.

Emma’s eyes softened. “It could be a good thing, then.” Instead, she gave him another smile, the

kind she knew could see right through him. “It could be that we all came here to learn from each

other.”

Their gazes locked as there was a shift within himself, he couldn’t name. He’d spent his whole

life chasing after wealth and power and achieving success, and it didn’t matter — any of it — in

that moment. All he sought to know was more about her way of seeing the world that made him

feel alive for what he hadn’t felt in years.

He wasn't the powerful CEO or the billionaire with an empire anymore - for the first time in a

long time. He was just in Emma’s presence... John. That felt like enough, and somehow.