What it cost him?I shake my head, confused. My abuelo was an exuberant man, full of life, and energy, and ideas. And he turned those ideas into a reality using his brilliance and innovation. Our wealth and the dominance of Hallazgo in the global market are proof enough of that.
But if that’s true, then why is that voice of doubt that was only just pestering me about Blondie now whispering in my ear again, beckoning me to consider that, maybe, I’ve always had it all wrong? I grew up with these stories about my abuelo, this incredible self-made man, but even I know wealth and opportunities don’t just appear from thin air, and as someone who came from nothing, it was unavoidable the poor chemist from Guadalajara had to make sacrifices, or pay some price, to reach the impressive heights he did. As that understanding sinks into my skin, another unsettling thought takes shape. What devils did he have to bargain with to create this life I’ve taken for granted?
What monsters did he have to sell his soul to?
A feeling of disquiet curdles in my stomach like spoiled milk, and I’m overwhelmed by the sudden urge to retch.
“I don’t…” I shudder at the sticky bead of sweat forming along my hairline and brow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I force myself to choke out. “He only talked about the good, about what was possible if I worked hard enough. He always said we could change the world.”
“That’s because he wanted you to believe it,” my abuela insists, though her tone is gentle. “He wanted you to see the best of what he was trying to achieve while also shielding you from the ugliness of the truth.”
“The truth?” My heart is racing beneath my rib cage.
A few seconds tick by, marked by the call time on my phone screen as if taunting me. Finally, my abuela says, “How difficult it was to create anything good in a system designed to put profits ahead of people.”
“But he did,” I counter, clinging to that image of the man, the grandfather, I revered as a child. “He built Hallazgo on his own, and turned it into something huge. He found a way to beat the system.”
Didn’t he?
The silence that follows is deafening. I can hear the crinkle of the static between us in the dragging moments it takes my abuela to speak.
“No, mijo.” There’s a heaviness to her voice now. “He didn’t beat it. Hesurvivedit.”
Her words hit me like a blow to the chest. I’d always imagined my abuelo as a man who commanded respect, who bent the whole world to his will. The idea that he’d been forced to bow to it instead…it doesn’t sit right with me. It doesn’t sit right at all.
“When your abuelo came to this country, he had hopes and dreams, as so many do. And he thought, with perseverance, and with the right people behind him, he would have the reach and means to create medications that everyone—regardless of income bracket—would be able to afford. He thought others would share his ideals. That science and the desire to do some good in this world would be enough to sway them.”
“Let me guess,” I deadpan. “It wasn’t.”
“No,” she says sadly. “It wasn’t. The insurance companies, the industry regulators, the investors—all of them wanted to make money first and help people second. Your abuelo’s biggest struggle wasn’t in the lab; that part was always easy for him. The real hurdle was convincing everyone else with a hand in the pie to take a chance on his ideas. Every formula, every breakthrough—he had to fight to get them funded, to get them approved, to get them into the hands of the patients who needed that medication. And each step of the way, there were compromises.”
That horrible sour feeling in my stomach rises in my esophagus until I taste bile in my mouth. I try to spit out the bitter tang, but what escapes instead are accusatory, venom-laced words. “So, he sold out,” I growl as that pedestal I put my abuelo on seems to crumble before me.
“It’s not that simple,” my abuela protests at the clear vitriol in my voice. “Your abuelo never once abandoned his ideals, but he also knew he couldn’t create what he did on his own. He didn’t come from wealth—you know this. His funds were not unlimited. So, he had to find a way to workwiththe system, not against it. The success of the company had to come first. He hated it, but if he didn’t play by the rules, there would have been no Hallazgo. No way to distribute the medicine he was creating, least of all to the people who needed it. Do you think hewantedto see his drugs priced so high that only the wealthy could afford them? Do you think hewantedto partner with predatory insurance companies? Of course not. But without them, the people who needed his drugs the most—the ones who couldn’t afford to pay out of pocket—would never have been able to access them at all. And without the funding, without the patents and approvals, there wouldn’t have been any medication to sell. He didn’t have a choice, Damian. All he could hope was that, someday, whether under his leadership or your father’s…or even yours,” she adds after a meaningful pause, “that maybe, someday, things would be different.”
For the first time since losing Jamie, it feels like my entire world has been turned upside down. All these years, I thought our family’s wealth was a benefit of my abuelo’s selfless ambitions, not in spite of them. At least when I was a child, I had the self-centeredness of adolescence to blame for never thinking to question it, but what excuse do I have now? Clearly, I’mstilla self-absorbed child, too consumed by my own issues to see beyond the end of my nose. And I should have seen it. I should have realized. After all, I know first-hand what Hallazgo has become—where its investors’ values lie. I think I just didn’twantto see it because seeing it would have forced me to finally lift the rose-tinted glasses. To realize my abuelo wasn’t the infallible figure I’ve built him up as in my mind.
And I suppose because it was easier to blame my father, like I have for so much else. To lay the burden of fault at his feet. After all, it’s not like he’s trying to make the world a better place, or doing anything to help people like Blondie’s mom. His concerns are singular, and none of them are altruistic.
“Everything your abuelo did,” my abuela says carefully when it’s clear that I won’t break the silence first, “was for survival. For stability. And for the chance, however small, that his actions would eventually do some good in the world. Do you know what it’s like to come to a new country with nothing? He had his ideals, yes, but he wasn’t just building a company, Damian. He was building a life for his family. Foryou. Your abuelo wanted to help people, and he did as much as he couldwhenhe could, but it was also extremely important to him that he take care of his family. To guarantee and protectourfuture. Unfortunately, along the way, there were times when a choice had to be made. And the more Hallazgo grew, the more your abuelo stood to lose.”
I swallow hard, fighting back the tears threatening to break though. “I just assumed he… I don’t know. The way he always talked about it, I thought he found a way to stay above all the bullshit.”
She sighs. “There is a reason they refer to it as the ignorance of youth, mijo. You only saw the man he wanted you to see—the dreamer who believed he really could change the world. But he carried a lot more that he didn’t show you. He worried constantly about whether he was doing the right thing. Whether he was doing enough. Your abuelito was a good man, Damian. But even good men can’t fight the whole world on their own. He never stopped trying to help, but he also knew the system was far bigger than he was. That he was just one cog in a much larger machine.”
“A machine Dad was more than happy to keep being a part of,” I mutter. My father is a businessman, after all, not a chemist or idealist, like my abuelowas. His priority will always be the bottom line.
My abuela exhales a loudtsk. “Your father inherited a company that was already deeply rooted in the system. He didn’t create it. He’s simply trying to keep it alive, keep it from falling apart. Do you think he hasn’t made sacrifices? That he hasn’t struggled with the same questions your abuelo did, or that he doesn’t have regrets about the decisions he’s made?” I can’t recall the last time my abuela raised her voice, or the last time I heard that fire in it that burns brighter with every word. Shit, I can count on one hand how many times my abuela has shouted at me. And unfortunately for me, she’s not done yet. “Youthink he’s selfish, butIthink he’s scared of losing everything your abuelo fought for. Of being the one to ruin this family.”
The insolent part of me bites back, “But he’s lost sight of why it all started. Abuelo wanted to help people. Dad only cares about profits and keeping the shareholders happy.”
It’s an unfair thing to say. I know it the moment the words leave my lips. After all, my family’s wealth isn’t anything new. It isn’t something we’ve only had since my father took over the company. I was raised with the private jets, the yachts. We had all that and more under my abuelo’s leadership. We grew richer while the poor got poorer, and all this time, I’ve been ignorant and selfish enough to convince myself our fortune wasn’t at the expense of someone else.
I wanted to believe it wasn’t. I wanted to believe one could live by their morals and make positive change in the world, and still have the success, the wealth, the lifestyle I was raised to inherit. And while I could sit here and say that inheritance isn’t behind why I always wanted to work at Hallazgo—that I was more interested in holding onto that last tie I felt to my abuelo,despite it being the truth—I can also see now how easy it is to say something like that when you have a safety net to fall back on…even if said safety net is one wrong move away from being ripped out from under me.
A deep sigh filters into my ear, and when my abuela next speaks, I notice that fire in her voice is gone. Extinguished. Now, she just sounds tired, like she’s grappled with this topic for far longer than the brief span of this conversation. “A legacy is a heavy burden, mijo. Maybe more than you can imagine. Do you know how many times your abuelo thought he was going to fail? How many times he sat at our table with his head in his hands, wondering if he’d made the wrong choice? If he’d done the wrong thing? Your father grew up watching that. He learned to fear failure more than anything, learned just how much was always at stake, at least in those early days when we first came to this country.” Silence for a beat. “Years have passed since then, but still, that fear remains. Maybe now, you will understand why.”
“But I don’t,” I say as the tears I’ve been holding in for what feels like a lifetime escape, sliding down my cheeks in hot, scalding lines. “I don’t understand any of it. Because if Dad gave a fuck about what abuelo stood for, he never would have let Jamie die.”
