It started, as these things so often do, with the police. Because they went to the wrong house (if your warrant says 253 Oak DRIVE, you're not supposed to go to 253 Oak LANE -- they're on completely opposite sides of the city), they broke down the door of Councilman Jackson's house and when he and his wife reflexively reacted to someone smashing in the door, the cops drew their guns and killed them both.
Since the Councilman was a successful black man, and the warrant was for a white drug dealer, this led to the usual conspiracy theories and cries of the cops being racist and trying to prevent black people from achieving success. I personally subscribed more to the theory of incompetence, following Hanlon's Razor (never attribute to malice that which can be adequately explained by stupidity.)
In the meantime, since I was also a Councilman and the Jacksons were close friends of mine -- plus which, the nearest family they had was 2,000 miles away -- I was the natural choice to take in their now orphaned teenage daughter. There was no reason for her to be sent to a foster home when a close friend of the family was available. (Me being rich, male and white probably didn't hurt my case with the bureaucrats, either. I'm not thrilled about the way of the world, but in this case, I used it to my advantage.) I secured her financial future by wrangling $3 million out of the police department for the wrongful deaths -- quite frankly, they were happy to pay it to make the issue go away. For the same reason, rather than risk a public trial that would inflame the city, the cops (both white, of course) who had fucked up the raid were fired and pled guilty to manslaughter. If it had been just a regular black citizen they had murdered, they would probably have gotten away with a slap on the wrist, but taking out a member of the city government doomed that possibility.
Tillie was 14, just finishing 8th grade, when all this happened. I got her counseling to deal with it (though it's just about impossible to ever fully get over something like that) and put her in a private high school with small class sizes and lots of staff members. I also sold my business interests for $10 million to my business partners, so I could retire and focus 100% on helping her get through her high school years. It's tough enough to get through those under normal circumstances, let alone after something like what happened to her happens.
Somehow, she put it behind her and survived high school. Her grades as a freshman weren't all that great, but as the counseling took effect, time went by, and she learned how to deal with it, she improved. At the end of freshman year, her overall GPA was 2.1. That rose to 2.5 after sophomore year, 2.7 after junior year and 2.9 when she graduated. And while she hadn't wanted to celebrate her birthdays initially ("What am I supposed to celebrate?"), when her 18th birthday came around late in her senior year, she did have a small gathering with a few of her schoolmates.
About a month later, she was officially a high school graduate. I was in the audience watching her walk across that stage, and was very happy for her. And proud of her. When I drove her home afterwards, I told her as much.
"Thanks, Jim."
"You're welcome, Tillie. Let's go out to eat as a way of celebrating. You pick where."
She chose a nice Chinese restaurant, and we had a pleasant dinner.
"So, now that I'm a high school graduate, what do I do with myself?"
"That's up to you. You're legally an adult, and you have sufficient financial resources that you don't have to spend your days earning money just to get by. That's part of what being an adult is, making decisions on your own."
"Can I choose to not make a decision, and just stay living in your house for a while?"
"Sure, if that's what makes you feel comfortable. No need to rush things."
"You're really sweet, you know that?"
I blushed. "Thank you."
The next morning, as I was lazing around and watching an episode of Battle Lines on ESPN Classic, Tillie walked into the living room wearing only a bra and panties.
"Hi, Jim."
"Hey, Tillie. Why aren't you dressed?"
She walked slowly over to me, deliberately making her C-cups (I would know, having had to buy all her clothes for her for that last four years) jiggle as she approached. Then she turned around, bent slightly forward, and shook her perfect ass at me. I don't know what genes are responsible, but black women always have amazing asses. Tillie was toned (a result of being on the cross-country team) and had long, muscular legs to go along with her nice chest and fine booty. And she had a pretty face as well.
"Just thought I'd let you know how thankful I am for everything you've done for me, Jim."
She turned back around and gave me a smirk.
"Um, you're quite welcome. It was the right thing to do, and I certainly didn't expect any recompense. Just seeing you put everything behind you and graduate was more than enough of a reward for me."
"I knew you were going to say that." She picked up the remote and turned off the TV, forcing me to pay full attention to her. "You know, you've kept yourself in good shape."
I had to concede that point. Being retired, and having 7 hours to fill every weekday while Tillie was in school, I had devoted a good part of that time to exercising. As a result, I was stronger, more muscular and in better shape now, at age 45, than I had been at age 25.
"I've spent a lot of time in the gym these past few years."
"But just like most men, especially white men, you're still clueless. Here I am practically naked in front of you and you're sitting there like a lump instead of taking me to your bed for some fun times."
