"Did it work? Did my magic words earlier loosen your purse-strings?"
Priya and Yasmin embraced each other tightly before sitting.
"Who are you saving now, Yas? Children in Sudan? Indigenous tribes in the Amazon?"
"I just spent a year at a field hospital in Syria. Shockingly, people in war zones need medical treatment."
Yasmin had hardly changed over the years. Beneath the sun-tanned skin, there was the familiar charm. The same that she had loved once.
"How're you doing?"
"Dad finally retired and gave me the reins of the company."
"Impressive," said Yasmin. "Is that why you're here?"
"Saraf Capital believes in giving back. Your charity does good work."
"Admit it. You're not here for us. You're here for them," she said, pointing to the reporters.
"Guilty as charged," said Priya, pouring her Scotch into two glasses. "I'm part of the one percent, so I must atone. Publicly."
"At least tell me you gave generously."
"Very."
"Did you give more than you spent on your chalet in Interlaken? Your yacht in the Antibes? Your Rolls-Royce convertible outside? Your net worth is roughly five thousand times mine, surely your contribution can be too."
"That's for me to know and you to be grateful for," she replied.
"I hate these fucking fund-raisers," Yasmin declared with a gulp of whiskey. "I'd much rather be back in my field hospital tending to people who need my help rather than sucking up to wealthy donors. The non-profit does great work, but I'll be damned if they trot me out for another event."
"For what it's worth, your speech was very moving."
They took a sip each.
"And by the way, you really should remember our parents were members of the same social club before you go off about the
one percent
. You could have been too, had you listened to your Dad."
"Chief of Surgery at Johns Hopkins. It's all Dad ever wanted for me, to follow in his footsteps."
"But not you," chimed in Priya. "You had to forge your own way. After med school, what do you do? You join Doctors without Borders."
