Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47241 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47241 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
He shook his head, letting out a long, exasperated sigh. “She is not a person. She is his factory.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good news, but why won’t he let you see it?”
“It’s a long story, Meri.”
“Normally I’d say I’ve got time to listen, but there’s a bunch of hungry people waiting for us to go back to the party, so give me the short version.”
“I’m not going back, and my problems are none of your concern.”
What a stubborn ass. “Fine, then consider it your parting gift. Solve the mystery that’s been swimming in my head for weeks. Put me out of my misery. Who are you? What’s going on?”
I expected him to tell me to pound sand, but instead he let out another breath. “The short version is that I am not a good man, Meri. I have done things that cannot be undone. And though I have tried to make amends, I’m realizing it will never be enough to be forgiven. Not by me or him.”
“You mean your dad.”
“Yes.” He ran a hand through his thick dark hair.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I killed three people.”
My stomach flipped. I hadn’t been expecting that. “You mean, like, with a gun?”
“No.” He sounded offended.
“Did you run them over with your car?” I asked.
“Meri.”
“Sorry.” I held up a palm.
“I-I was left in charge of the factory for the week, and it caught fire. We lost three workers, and dozens more were injured.”
A wave of relief washed over me. Not that I was dancing on these people’s graves, because, yikes. Who would do that? But a fire was a far cry from murder.
“So it was an accident,” I concluded.
“One that could have been prevented if I had stayed to watch over things. But I did not. I flew to New York and partied with friends for three days. When I got back, it was to a collapsing roof and body bags.”
How awful. “But fires happen, Beau.”
“Yes. And if I’d been there, I would have ensured everyone was alerted the moment there was an issue. I would’ve evacuated the building in an orderly fashion instead of the workers scrambling to put out the flames.”
Those were a lot of “would haves.” It sounded like he was taking the blame for a series of unfortunate events. “Beau, you couldn’t have known all that would happen.”
“Oh, but I did. My father warned me a dozen times that managing the factory is not about meeting production numbers. It’s about making sure our workers make it home safely.”
“What kind of things did you make?” I asked.
“Toys.”
“Like dolls, trains, and action figures?” The way he’d made it sound, they were making bombs or something.
“Yes. Starling Toys.”
The same name on that delivery truck. “I wasn’t aware that toy production was such a risky business.”
“Wood, paper, plastic, paint—all highly flammable in a factory setting. We make five hundred different items, and there are machines with gears, grinders, paint hoses, and everything else you can imagine. It’s easy to just look away for one moment and get a hand caught. Or for a worker who’s not paying attention to mishandle a bin of wood shavings. We take safety seriously, but things happen. And I wasn’t there to put the fire out when it did.”
I touched his arm. “I’m so sorry, but you made a mistake. You didn’t hurt anyone on purpose.”
“Tell that to their children and spouses. I deserve what I’ve gotten.”
“So that’s what this whole thing is about? The tent, the living in the freezing cold, the—”
“I gave up my position and quit the business. It wouldn’t bring back their loved ones, but I couldn’t look the workers or my father in the eyes again. I’d had everything handed to me in life—even my own house—but I failed to care about what truly mattered: the workers I was watching over, who depended on me. So I left with nothing but the clothes on my back.”
He left behind all responsibility, too. “Like a vow of poverty?”
“Something like that. I hitched rides on trains, cargo ships, whatever. I go where I can find odd jobs to pay for food and necessities. I’ve learned to survive without depending on anyone.”
Good for him, but that sounded extremely lonely, not to mention difficult. “But torturing yourself isn’t going to bring anyone back. You have to forgive yourself and move on.”
“I have. I have traveled the world and seen suffering, misery, and starvation. I have watched people die of drug overdoses, get shot, stabbed, blown up, run over, starve, drown—”
“Okay. Death. Lots of death. Got it.” Jeez. Dark much?
“And what I learned is that despite all that, there is still happiness in the world, but it needs more. That is when I finally understood that the business my father is in was never about pride or status. He believes in bringing happiness to the world, especially children. When I finally asked to come back and help him in whatever capacity he chose—warehouse, line worker, whatever—he refused. He said that I would never step foot inside the factory again until I’d changed.”