He sat alone beside the floor-to-ceiling windows and watched the city lights in the distance.
Eventually, his eyes closed.
And he saw the boy.
You'll need that money soon.
Richard opened his eyes.
“Nonsense.”
He stood.
Coincidence.
It had to be.
Perhaps the boy had seen something online.
Impossible—the fire hadn't been reported yet.
Perhaps someone had told him.
Who?
Perhaps he had simply said something vague, and Richard was giving it meaning after the fact.
That explanation made more sense.
Except Richard knew what he had heard.
You'll need that money soon.
He didn't sleep.
At 7:30 the next morning, Richard ordered his driver to take him to Madison and Forty-Second.
The boy wasn't there.
He waited twenty minutes.
Nothing.
The next morning, he returned again.
Still nothing.
On the third day, he walked into the coffee shop across from Coleman Tower.
The owner, a middle-aged man named Samir, recognized him immediately.
“Mr. Coleman.”
“There's a boy who sits outside sometimes.”
Samir's smile faded slightly.
“What boy?”
“Ten years old. Gray sweatshirt. Dark hair.”
Samir thought for a moment.
“Oh.”
Richard leaned forward.
“You've seen him?”
“A few times, I think.”
“What's his name?”
“I don't know.”
“Where does he live?”
“No idea.”
“Parents?”
“Never saw any.”
Richard removed a business card.
“If you see him, call this number.”
Samir looked at the card.
“Is he in trouble?”
Richard hesitated.
“No.”
Then, after a moment:
“I think I am.”
The board meeting began at eleven.
Richard entered to find twelve executives waiting around the table.
His chief financial officer, Martin Hayes, had already prepared the recovery plan.
“We need to reduce operating expenses immediately,” Martin said.
“How?”
“Temporary closure of the Ohio distribution facility, suspension of expansion projects, and workforce reduction.”
Richard looked up.
“How many?”
Martin hesitated.
“Between seven hundred and eight hundred.”
“Employees?”
“Yes.”
Richard stared at the spreadsheet.
Eight hundred salaries.
Eight hundred names.
In the past, he would have seen the number and calculated savings.
Now, inexplicably, he saw the elderly woman who had given the homeless boy two dollars.
I wish it could be more.
He imagined her losing her job.
He imagined his own mother sitting at the kitchen table counting coins.
“No.”
Martin frowned.
“Excuse me?”
“No layoffs.”
“Richard, that's not realistic.”
“Find another way.”
“There isn't another way.”
“Then look harder.”
One board member leaned forward.
“We're talking about survival.”
Richard turned toward him.
“So am I.”
He stood.
“Sell the corporate jets.”
Silence.
Martin blinked.
“What?”
“We have two Gulfstreams. Sell them.”
“Those are company assets used for—”
“We can fly commercial.”
Someone almost laughed.
Richard continued.
“Cancel executive bonuses this year.”
Now the room erupted.
“You can't be serious.”
“I am.”
“Richard—”
“My salary goes down seventy percent until Factory One is operational again.”
Martin stared at him.
“That still won't cover everything.”
“No, but it's a start.”
“Shareholders won't care about symbolism.”
“This isn't symbolism.”
Richard looked around the table.
“We don't burn eight hundred families because our executives don't want to sit in business class.”
Nobody answered.
The old Richard Coleman would have fired anyone who challenged him in that tone.
The new Richard wasn't entirely sure who he was yet.
But for the first time, he wanted to find out.
Six weeks passed before Richard saw the boy again.
It was raining heavily that afternoon, turning the sidewalks into mirrors beneath the city lights.
Richard was being driven home when he noticed a small figure beneath a bus shelter.
“Stop.”
His driver looked into the mirror.
“Sir?”
“Stop the car.”
Richard was outside before the vehicle had fully reached the curb.
He opened the trunk and removed a paper bag he had begun carrying almost every day.
Inside were sandwiches, fruit, bottled water, clean socks, gloves, and a folded blanket.
The boy sat beneath the shelter.
Same gray sweatshirt.
Same battered shoes.
He looked exactly as Richard remembered him.
Not thinner.
Not older.
Not colder.
Richard approached slowly.
The boy looked up.
“I wondered when you'd come back.”
Richard stopped.
“You knew I was looking for you?”
The child moved slightly, making room on the bench.
Richard sat beside him.
Rain drummed against the shelter roof.
“I've been searching everywhere.”
“Why?”
“I need answers.”
The boy smiled.
“Everyone thinks they need answers.”
“What do they need?”
“Perspective.”
Richard handed him the bag.
The child opened it.
“You brought sandwiches.”
“Yes.”