I make ten million dollars a year. I run a nonprofit. I know. Take a moment. A gentleman at CommonSpirit was paid nearly twenty eight million in a single filing year. He served three days of it before he stepped down. Three days. Some men are simply better at mercy than I am. You have read about places like mine. You read the headline, and you felt something. A little ache. A little pride in your community hospital. Thank you for that. I mean it. You have never seen love until you have seen a town love its nonprofit hospital. I saved their grandparents. I saved their parents. I delivered their babies. Now, when they say that, they do not mean me. They mean the nurse who sat with their father at three in the morning while I was asleep in a house they will never see. They mean her. They say me. I take the credit. All of it. I stand at the gala in a tuxedo and accept a standing ovation for work performed by people I am, at that moment, negotiating against. And I never once had to lie. I never said I did it. I simply never said I did not. Gratitude is the cheapest input in my supply chain. It arrives free. It never unionizes. And it goes directly onto my name. You believe I am a charity. You have believed it your entire life. Your mother believed it. And I have never corrected you. Why would I? It is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me, and you did it for free. Let me tell you what the word actually means. Nonprofit is not a promise. It is not a vow. It is a tax election. Nine letters and a filing. I did not swear anything. I did not kneel. I filled out a form, and a clerk approved it. Everything else came from you. The holiness. The charity. The sacrifice. I never promised any of that. You did. The word profit appears nowhere in my filings. It would look terrible. So I call it surplus. I run a billion dollar surplus and a portfolio that would make a hedge fund blush, and not one word of it is a lie. I did not hide anything. I changed the noun. I could have done all of this in private equity. The arithmetic is identical. But nobody names a wing after a managing director. So I chose the path with the gala. Same extraction. Better applause. Now look across the street at the for-profit clinic. He pays property tax. It funds your schools. He sues fewer patients than I do. And you despise him. You call him greedy. Then you walk under my cross, accept a bill you cannot pay, and thank me on the way out. I am not a better man than he is. I picked a better tax status. So yes. I love the word nonprofit. I did not take a vow of poverty. I filed a form. Poverty is what I sell. It is not what I practice. -Rojas out.