They shook hands.
The scholarship was created six months later.
The first recipient was a young woman named Sofia Martinez, who had left college to care for her younger brothers after her mother died.
Naomi interviewed her personally.
Sofia reminded Naomi of herself.
The same exhaustion.
The same fear.
The same determination.
When Sofia received the scholarship, she cried.
“I don't know how to thank you.”
Naomi smiled.
“You don't need to.”
“But why me?”
Naomi looked at her.
“Because someone should have given me this chance years ago.”
That night, Naomi went home and looked at her mother's photograph.
She finally understood what her mother had meant.
Language was about doors.
But sometimes, the most important thing wasn't knowing how to open a door.
It was deciding to hold it open for someone else.
Five years passed.
Naomi's career continued to grow.
She became a senior partner at Lin International.
Then she founded her own investment company.
She called it Carter Global.
Her father joked about the name.
“You could have called it Carter & Daughter.”
Naomi laughed.
“That sounds like a law firm.”
“It sounds respectable.”
“It sounds old.”
“You're old.”
“I'm thirty-eight.”
“Exactly.”
Their relationship had changed.
James was healthier than doctors had expected.
Naomi made sure he traveled.
They visited China together.
They stood outside the restaurant where her mother had once worked.
They walked through the streets where her mother had grown up.
Naomi spoke Mandarin with local shopkeepers.
Her father watched her proudly.
One evening, he said:
“She would be proud.”
Naomi smiled.
“I hope so.”
“She already was.”
Naomi looked at him.
“How do you know?”
“Because she told me.”
“When?”
“The week before she died.”
Naomi stopped walking.
“What did she say?”
James looked at the city lights.
“She said you were going to build something.”
Naomi laughed softly.
“I've built a company.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“She meant something bigger.”
Naomi didn't understand then.
She did later.
The opportunity came when a historic building in San Francisco went up for sale.
It was an old commercial property.
Beautiful but neglected.
At street level was a restaurant.
The restaurant had changed owners several times.
Naomi walked inside.
She stopped.
Table twelve was still there.
Different chairs.
Different decorations.
Different management.
But the table remained.
Naomi stood beside it.
She remembered Victor.
The bet.