Ultimate Cash System
Chapter 167: Chairty.

Chapter 167: Chairty.

The sun had fully risen by the time Lukas pulled up in front of St. Mary’s Chapel, its whitewashed walls glowing under the golden morning light. The church bell hadn’t rung yet, but a small crowd had already gathered, many dressed in modest Sunday attire. Some turned toward the Mercedes as it came to a gentle stop along the gravel shoulder. Curious eyes squinted through the windshield.

When Lukas stepped out and walked around to open the door for Keem, the murmurs began. He did it without hesitation, with practiced grace, like he’d done it a hundred times before—though the calm in his chest felt brand new. Keem stepped out slowly, holding the edge of her dress, her face glowing not with vanity but quiet serenity. Her ivory white gown flowed with the breeze, and her eyes reflected a peace rarely found in people so young.

"Is that... him?" "That’s the boy from the Phillies..." "The pitcher... the hundred-million-dollar guy?"

The hushed voices did not escape Lukas, but he didn’t let it alter his pace. He simply nodded to a few familiar faces and walked side by side with Keem toward the church doors.

Inside, St. Mary’s retained its old charm. The wooden pews were freshly polished, stained glass windows shimmered in multicolored light, and the scent of beeswax candles mingled with the faint aroma of lilies. Soft piano notes played as the organist prepared the morning hymns.

Keem led the way, stopping to greet several of the older women by name, hugging a few, and blessing others. A small group of children seated on the left pews ran up to her and hugged her waist tightly.

"Miss Keem, you came! You came early today!" a little girl with missing front teeth exclaimed.

Keem chuckled and bent down, brushing the girl’s hair softly. "Of course I came, sweet pea. The Lord’s house doesn’t open without its children."

Lukas stood quietly, watching the exchange. There was something luminous about her. Not just in beauty—he’d seen beauty before. But this was different. Keem moved with the type of gentleness that didn’t ask to be noticed. It was simply felt.

She eventually turned to him with a soft smile. "Come, sit with me. We sit in the back row. That way I can keep an eye on the kids."

They found a quiet pew. The children seated in front kept glancing back at Lukas, whispering and giggling. Some recognized him from the television. One even whispered, "That’s the fireball pitcher!"

The sermon began. Father Jonas, an elderly but sharp-voiced man with a silver beard, led the prayer with warmth and vigor. He spoke of humility and service. Of faith not as performance, but as quiet labor in the lives of others.

Throughout the hour, Keem was reverent, kneeling during prayer, eyes closed in deep concentration. She led the children gently through the verses, helped them recite their parts, and when the time came for the offering, she walked up with the orphans and placed a small envelope in the collection box.

After communion, the ritual softened into announcements. Father Jonas mentioned an upcoming roof renovation and some charity bake sales and then paused, his eyes sweeping over the congregation.

"And lastly, I’d like to invite anyone willing to support our orphan outreach fund. You know we’ve taken in three more little ones this month. God has blessed us, but funds are tight. Anyone moved to help, please see Miss Keem or me after the service."

As the congregation began to rise and people trickled out toward the sunlit yard, Keem turned to Lukas. Her voice was low and respectful.

"Lukas... you don’t have to. But if your heart says yes, know that even a small donation goes a long way here."

He looked at her. Not at her dress or hair or flawless posture. Just her.

A woman who knelt in prayer not for herself but for children. A woman who gave when she had so little.

And in that moment, his answer was already decided because in his head he got a sound: Ding!!.

[Ding!! Mission: Do a charitable donation. Minimum Reward: $1000]

Lukas smiled broadly and pulled out his checkbook, the soft rip of paper echoing faintly beneath the stained-glass windows. With steady hands, he scribbled out a figure and tore the slip free.

He handed it to Keem.

Her fingers trembled as she looked down.

Ten million dollars.

A collective gasp swept through the yard. Conversations halted. Footsteps paused mid-stride. Even Father Jonas, halfway through a farewell handshake with one of the ushers, turned in stunned silence.

Keem stared at the check as if it might dissolve in her hands. "L-Lukas... this... this can’t be right."

"It is," he said gently. "You said it yourself—when the heart says yes."

She looked up at him, wide-eyed and unblinking, her lips parted in disbelief. For a moment, she forgot the crowd, the church, even the children. She was simply a girl, overwhelmed, in front of a man whose name echoed through stadiums.

"You could’ve given anything, and it would’ve meant the world to us," she whispered. "But this... this is beyond charity. This is Grace."

Lukas offered a modest smile. "I’m just paying back what I owe. Maybe not to this town, or even this church—but to the kind of people who never had a camera on them when they were doing good."

The children, now gathered by the arch of the chapel doors, looked between the two with innocent wonder. One boy tugged Keem’s dress. "Miss Keem... does this mean we can get the books you talked about? And the new blankets?"

Keem dropped to her knees and pulled the boy into a hug. Her voice cracked. "Yes, baby. Yes, we can."

Lukas watched the moment unfold, not as a spectator, but as someone quietly changed. There was something deeper than applause, deeper than wealth or stadium lights, in the way those children looked at Keem. He’d lived a life lately where every move was a highlight. This one... this one wouldn’t trend. But it mattered.

Father Jonas approached with calm authority, placing a hand on Lukas’s shoulder. "I’ve seen many Sundays, son. I’ve seen generosity in different forms. But this... this is rare."

Lukas just nodded. "It’s not generosity, Father. It’s just what’s right."

The crowd, still dazed, slowly began to clap. Not the loud, theatrical kind. But the kind that builds out of gratitude—soft and slow, like a prayer turned into applause.

Keem wiped her eyes, finally finding composure. "Come with me," she said, her voice still shaking. "Let me show you where this will go. Where your name won’t be on plaques, but in every single laugh and every single night they sleep warm."

And Lukas followed.

Word traveled faster than wind. By the time Keem led Lukas down the path that curved behind the church and toward the eastern edge of town, a trail of townsfolk had begun to follow at a polite distance. Not just children and old folks, but local store owners, the mayor’s secretary, the postman—each curious and cautious.

The orphanage stood behind a faded white picket fence, nestled among old trees. It had clearly seen better days. The building was large but worn—its paint peeling, shutters askew. The wooden sign hanging above the gate read "Grace House" in faded blue letters.

Keem pushed the gate open. It creaked.

The yard was swept but bare. A couple of rusting tricycles leaned against the porch. Some old toys were stacked neatly in a corner. The flowerbeds had no flowers, only dry soil and stubborn weeds. Lukas took it all in with a growing silence.

Inside, it was cleaner, but the walls needed repainting. The floorboards groaned. The scent was a mix of soap, dust, and something old. Children peeked from behind doorways, eyes wide.

Keem smiled at them, her presence instantly comforting. "Don’t be shy. Say hello."

A small boy stepped forward, rubbing one eye. "Hi... Mister Lukas."

Lukas crouched slightly to his level. "Hi there. What’s your name?"

"Jonny. Are you going to live here too?"

The question almost made Lukas laugh—but there was no mockery in the boy’s tone. Just honest curiosity.

Keem chuckled softly, her cheeks pink. "He’s just visiting, sweetie."

They walked further inside. Keem showed him the dormitory rooms—clean but cramped. The laundry room with its single, half-functioning washer. The kitchen, where one pot simmered over a gas flame and a tired woman stirred with a worn spoon.

"We do what we can," Keem said. "My father pays most of the bills. He used to be one of the donors for the church too, back before the market crash. Now we focus here. But even then... it’s never enough."

She looked genuinely embarrassed, as if the failing roof and dented appliances were her fault.

"You keep the place going," Lukas said calmly. "That’s already a miracle."

She turned her head to hide her blush.

They climbed upstairs to the study room—just two desks and a cracked blackboard. One of the walls had colorful drawings pasted to it, carefully preserved.

"The children drew these," Keem said, smiling.

Lukas nodded. "They’re better than my high school art projects."

She laughed genuinely this time, and the sound was enough to bring a few kids scurrying in to join them.

Downstairs, the townsfolk hesitated at the door, not wanting to intrude but unable to leave.

Lukas took another look around.

He had grown up hungry once. Different town. Different struggle. But the weight of it, the way it settled into the bones—that feeling was the same. He understood.

He turned to Keem. "You don’t need to ask again."

She blinked. "What?"

"We’re renovating everything. Roof, walls, beds, heating system... all of it. And I want the kids to have a playground too."

Keem’s lips parted, stunned.

Outside, Father Jonas had come along and was now talking to the mayor, who had arrived after the news spread. The crowd’s quiet murmurs hushed as Lukas stepped back onto the porch.

He looked at the crowd and nodded. "I’ll be donating not just for the church. But for Grace House. These kids deserve more than just survival. They deserve childhood."

Gasps. Cheers. Some even clapped.

Keem, behind him, still had her hand over her mouth.

And Lukas turned to her one more time.

"You’re doing holy work, Keem. Let me be your assistant."

She couldn’t speak. Only tears glimmered in her eyes.

The orphans gathered around her like stars drawn to a moon. And from that day forward, Grace House would never be forgotten again.

"You do all this," Lukas finally said. "While also helping the church. While studying."

Keem smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I guess I don’t know how not to."

Before he could answer, the mayor arrived—a rotund man with a trimmed mustache and polished shoes that didn’t belong in this part of town. He shook Lukas’s hand firmly and spoke with eager charm.

"We’re honored to have you here, Mr. Cross. You really are the pride of the state. The entire town is buzzing today."

Lukas gave a polite nod. "I just came to visit."

"Yes, yes! Of course," the mayor said, eyes gleaming. "Still, we should talk sometime. Perhaps even about starting a local charity initiative with your name. Think about it."

Keem stood silently beside them, her expression composed but distant. Lukas glanced at her and then replied with a simple, "I’ll think about it."

After the mayor drifted back into the crowd, Keem turned to Lukas. "Would you like to visit our home? It’s not far. My mom’s an amazing cook. She’d be thrilled to have you."

Lukas paused. The sun was starting to lean westward, shadows getting longer. He looked at Keem and smiled gently. "Not today. I have to get back, but next time I come, I promise. I’d love to."

Keem nodded with understanding. "I’ll hold you to that."

A few kids clung to his coat before he stepped back toward the car. Jay opened the door, and Roy stood watchfully by the crowd, making sure the path was clear. The murmurs and waves followed Lukas all the way to the Mercedes.

He gave a final wave to the children and to Keem and slid into the backseat.

The engine started. The gravel crunched beneath the tires.

And just like that, the Mercedes disappeared down the old road, leaving behind a town that would remember Lukas for a while.