— Elena turned to Drew. — What woods? What’s going on?
Drew sat next to his mother and took her hands. He told her everything: how he found Arthur tied up, how he hauled him back, how he cleaned the wound. He spoke quickly, breathlessly. Elena listened, shaking her head. She couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t wrap her head around it.
— But why? How? — she muttered, looking at Arthur.
— They left me there. Wanted to teach me a lesson. Or kill me. I don’t know. — Arthur clenched his fists on the table. — My partners. My former friends.
Elena covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders shook.
— My God! — she whispered. — It can’t be!
Drew hugged his mother, holding her tight. Cassie came up on the other side and took her hand. Arthur sat with his head down. He was silent. Outside, the snow began to fall again, slow and steady. The wind moaned in the chimney. The house was warm, the stove crackling. But the warmth felt fragile, uncertain.
Elena looked up at Arthur.
— What happens now? — she asked quietly.
— I don’t know. — Arthur shrugged. — I need time. To think. To plan.
— Can he stay here? — Drew asked.
Elena looked at her son for a long time. Then she nodded.
— Yes, — she said softly. — Of course he can.
Arthur looked at her with deep gratitude.
— Thank you, — he whispered. — I won’t forget this. Ever.
Elena nodded and stood up. She took off her parka and hung it on the peg. She removed her scarf. Her hair fell over her shoulders, dull and streaked with gray.
— Would you like some tea? — she asked, moving toward the stove.
— I would, — Arthur nodded.
Elena put the kettle on. She got out the mugs. She moved slowly, like she was in a dream. Drew watched his mother and wondered: Did she believe him? Or was she just too tired to argue? Outside, the snow was piling up. It was covering the tracks, the roads—everything. It was as if the world had decided to hide this house from prying eyes. To hide what was happening inside. And in that silence, in that snow, in that warmth of the stove, no one knew what tomorrow would bring.
Elena couldn’t sleep. She lay on the sofa by the stove, tucked under an old quilt, staring at the ceiling. The clock on the wall showed 11:45 PM. Cassie was snoring softly beside her, curled in a ball. Drew was on the floor, his head on a rolled-up jacket. And in the bed slept Arthur Sterling. The CEO. Her boss, essentially. And here he was in her home, the home of a simple assembly line worker, wounded and hunted. It felt surreal.
Elena turned on her side and listened. Arthur’s breathing was ragged, restless. He groaned in his sleep. He was probably having a nightmare. She stood up and walked barefoot to the bed. She sat on the edge carefully. Arthur stirred and opened his eyes. He looked confused for a second, then recognized her.
— Elena? — he croaked, sitting up. — You? Here?
— This is my home, Mr. Sterling, — Elena said quietly, folding her hands in her lap.
— Your son saved me.
— Drew? Your son? — Arthur rubbed his face. — I didn’t know. He saved my life.
— What happened? — Elena leaned closer. — Why were you in the woods?
— I didn’t see it coming. Everything was falling apart, people were losing jobs. We were young. I was twenty-six, Mike was twenty-seven, Dan was twenty-five. Ambitious, cocky. We decided to build something of our own. I had connections with leather suppliers. My dad used to work at a tannery. Mike had the business head, the drive, he knew how to close a deal. Dan was the engineer, he understood the machinery, the process.
Elena listened without interrupting. In the corner, Drew stirred; he wasn’t sleeping, he was listening.
— We started in a garage, — Arthur continued, staring at the ceiling. — Hired ten people. Bought old sewing machines for pennies. We made boots, work shoes. Simple, rugged. But high quality—we made sure of that. Mike said quality was our reputation. And he was right.
— Were there a lot of orders? — Elena asked.
— Tons, — Arthur smiled. — Everyone needed good boots, and the big stores were too expensive. We were cheaper, faster. The first five years we worked like dogs. Mike was out on the road constantly, finding clients. Dan was on the floor, fixing machines, training people. I was sourcing materials, counting pennies, dealing with suppliers. We slept four hours a night. We barely ate, putting every cent back into the business.
Elena nodded; she understood. She lived that way every day.
— But then it took off, — Arthur grew more animated, speaking faster. — About three years in. We started making real money. Bought a proper facility, brought in new equipment. Hired more people—not ten, but a hundred. The company grew. Ten years later, we had two hundred employees. Orders from all over the country. Good money. We were proud: we built it with our own hands.
— So what happened? — Elena asked softly.
Arthur’s face darkened. He clenched his fists on the quilt.
— Mike wanted more, — he said bitterly. — He always wanted more. Not just a factory, but an empire. Retail stores, warehouses, distribution. Said we had to expand, take over the market. About four years ago, he started connecting with people. Shady people.
Elena shivered.
— I was against it, — Arthur shook his head. — Dan was too. We said, “Why do we need this? We’re doing fine, we’re honest, we’re providing for people.” But Mike kept at it: said we needed “protection,” that competitors would crush us, that everyone works this way.
— And you agreed? — Elena asked.
— Mike convinced us. — Arthur sighed. — Said we’d try it for a year. If we didn’t like it, we’d cut ties. We believed him. At first, those people actually helped. They stopped some local thugs who were trying to shake us down. Mike called his new friends, they showed up, and the problem went away. They helped with competitors too—someone tried to undercut our prices, and Mike’s people “talked” to them. It all seemed to work.
— But then things went south? — Elena guessed.
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