“Thank you,” I force out.
“Now, did doing that make me a good person?” Morgan asks. Calculated.
This feels important. Like a test. “No.”
“But it’s a sum you’d be lucky tomakein ten years, let alone donate. Did I not just do more good than you could hope to?”
“It didn’t cost you anything.”
“So only suffering is noble? Only self-deprivation is generous?”
The words squirm under my skin, cracking away my surface-level arguments. She was right before about my martyr complex.
“It’s not that.”
“Then why?”
“You did it to end a conversation. Gain the upper hand. Does that usually work on people?”
“Yes,” she says, and something dances at the edge of her eyes. “Now, did it make you happy?”
“No,” I breathe.
“Why? Is ORC not deserving?”
“They are.”
“Then why?”
“Because I’m second-guessing myself. I feel like I should have done more research. Are they even ready to use that much money? Would it go further somewhere else? Should it help as many people as possible, or a few most profoundly?”
Morgan’s eyes twinkle. “There are, what, almost ten billion people on the earth? I could sell Artemis to someone who’s going to run it into the ground, and I could give each person one US dollar. Sure, that would go further in some markets than in others. Should I do that?”
Irritation prickles under my skin. “That’s not the point.”
“Isn’t it? Well, maybe I just need more money before I do that, then. After all, if I’d done that ten years ago, I would’ve hardly had a penny for each person. The bigger my investments grow, the more I’ll have to donate when I die. Effective altruism.”
“That’s still not the point.” God, Morgan is lightning-quick. It’d be all too easy to be swept along by her confidence, but this is important to me. And maybe I’m trying to remind myself why someone like her would never really want someone like me.
“So you want me to live as an ascetic? Symbolic denial? Regardless of whether it really makes a material difference in anyone else’s life? My personal spending is a drop in the bucket compared to what Artemis spends on research anddevelopment.”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying—”
“Then what’s the point, Jamie? What would you do in myspuriously expensiveshoes?”
“It’s abouttime,” I say, the answer spilling out of my mouth before it’s even in my brain. “Since your time is so valuable, yes, you could spend it on getting more money. Sure. Whatever. Make donations that get people off your back. But if I had that much time? I’d spend it dismantling the systems that—that fuck everyone over to begin with. If your investments are—are sending kids into cobalt mines, or cramming people into sweat shops, they don’t need your dollar, they need to notdie. Half the point of ORC would be obviated if we just had fucking universal basic income and healthcare. Whatever money you billionaires donate to charity, you spend more on lobbies and political campaigns that squeeze normal people into tighter and tighter boxes, that strip rights and public services. You wouldstillbe a billionaire if you fucking paid your share of taxes!”
I’m breathing hard. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I brace for Morgan to scold me.
“You’re right,” she says. “And Artemis wouldn’t be nearly the company it is without the privatized state of the health care system.”
“There areotherways,” I insist.
“There are. And making a lasting impact with them is going to take time, and money, and resources.”
“Whichyouhave.”
“Which I have.” Her tone is even, curious. Like I’m missing something.
