At his funeral, investors filled only two rows.
The rest of the church was crowded with mechanics, janitors, secretaries, retired bakers, apprentices, scholarship students, and families whose names I knew.
Afterward, a glamorous young woman approached me and glanced toward the company vehicles.
“What is it really like marrying into all this money?” she asked.
I laughed and led her into Walter’s office.
Then I handed her the leather portfolio.
Her smile widened when she opened it.
A few seconds later, it slowly disappeared.
That evening, I visited the company’s oldest factory.
Through a distant window, I could see the mansion glowing on the hill.
I barely noticed it.
After the final employees collected their coats, I turned off the break-room lights and closed the door.
The small brass key turned smoothly in the lock.
Years earlier, I had dreamed of owning the mansion.
Walter left me something far more valuable.
