Chương 2: A Second Beginning II

Arc 1: A Second Beginning October 11, 1970 The elevator doors opened with a soft metallic chime. Enzo stepped out first, followed closely by James. Unlike the lobby, the administrative floor was quiet. The sounds of the factory below were muted, reduced to a distant mechanical hum that vibrated faintly beneath the polished wooden floor. Along the corridor hung framed photographs documenting the history of Thompson Manufacturing. James slowed his pace.

The first photograph showed a small brick workshop from the 1920s.

The second captured Claire Thompson's father standing proudly beside the company's first weaving machine. Another showed a young Claire, smiling confidently as she inspected newly delivered textile rolls. Then... A black-and-white photograph stopped James in his tracks. Enzo. Young. Confident. No gray hair. No wrinkles. Standing beside Claire on their wedding day in 1941. Claire wore an elegant ivory dress with a lace veil, while Enzo looked almost uncomfortable inside his formal tuxedo. Yet his smile...

It was genuine. James looked at the picture for a long moment.

"So..." Enzo's voice broke the silence.

"You found Grandma." James nodded quietly.

"She was beautiful." A warm smile spread across Enzo's face.

"She was." For several seconds, neither of them spoke. Finally, Enzo chuckled.

"She was also much smarter than me." James looked at him.

"I doubt that."

"No." Enzo laughed.

"I am serious."

"She understood numbers better than anyone I have ever met."

"If she looked at a balance sheet for five minutes..."

"She could tell whether a business would survive." James listened attentively. His grandfather rarely spoke about Claire. The memories were simply too painful.

"I only knew fabrics." Enzo continued.

"Machines."

"Workers."

"Production."

"She taught me everything about business." James glanced once more at Claire's smiling face. Thank you. Without her... There would have been no Thompson Manufacturing for Enzo to build.

They continued walking until they reached a large wooden door. A polished brass plaque read: Chairman's Office Enzo unlocked the door.

"Come." James stepped inside. His breath caught. The office was exactly as he remembered. Dark oak bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling. Several leather-bound ledgers rested neatly upon them. A massive mahogany desk dominated the room, its surface immaculate except for a green banker's lamp, a fountain pen, and a neatly stacked pile of reports. Behind the desk, a large window overlooked the factory complex. Sunlight poured into the room, illuminating tiny particles of dust dancing lazily in the air.

Everything smelled faintly of polished wood, paper, and tobacco. James slowly walked toward the window. Below... Hundreds of workers moved with practiced coordination. Forklifts carried wooden crates. Delivery trucks backed toward loading docks. Steam escaped from rooftop vents. Assembly lines operated with remarkable rhythm. There was life. Purpose. Pride. Enzo set his briefcase beside the desk.

"What do you think?" James answered honestly.

"It's beautiful." Enzo smiled.

"I thought you would say 'big.'" James shook his head.

"No."

"This place..." He looked across the factory grounds once more.

"... means something." Enzo watched his grandson carefully. For a brief moment... He could have sworn those words hadn't come from a ten-year-old.

A knock echoed through the office.

"Come in." The door opened. A young woman entered carrying a clipboard and several folders. She wore a navy-blue skirt suit, her blonde hair neatly tied behind her head. Professional. Calm. Organized.

"Good morning, Chairman."

"Morning, Leslie." She smiled warmly.

"Good morning, James." James returned the smile.

"Good morning, Mrs. Carter." Leslie blinked. Then I laughed softly.

"My."

"I've become 'Mrs. Carter' now?" James realized his mistake.

"Sorry..."

"I just wanted to be polite." She smiled even brighter.

"Well..."

"I appreciate it." She placed the folders on Enzo's desk.

"These are today's appointments." Enzo glanced over them.

"Anything urgent?" Leslie nodded.

"Mr. Anthony Russo will arrive at ten-thirty."

"The bank meeting with Empire National Bank is scheduled for one o'clock."

"And..." She looked down at her notes. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"The Department of Defense sent another letter requesting a meeting regarding next year's production capacity." James remained expressionless. But internally... His attention sharpened. So it's already beginning... The 1971 contract negotiations. Exactly what he intended to stop. Enzo sighed.

"They certainly don't waste time."

"They don't." Leslie smiled politely.

"I'll let you know when Mr. Russo arrives."

"Thank you." After she left, James watched the door close. Leslie Carter... Another loyal employee. She had worked tirelessly alongside Enzo during the bankruptcy. Many secretaries had resigned once salaries became uncertain. Leslie never did. Even when the company could barely afford payroll... She stayed.

Enzo sat behind his desk. He opened the first production report. Within seconds... His demeanor changed. The affectionate grandfather disappeared. In his place sat the Chairman of Thompson Manufacturing. His eyes moved rapidly across each page. Occasionally, he made small notes with a fountain pen. He didn't merely read numbers. He interpreted them. James quietly observed. Remarkable...

Even before James had earned his Business Management degree, Enzo had already mastered practical leadership through decades of experience. Books taught theories. Experience taught judgment. It was one of the greatest lessons James had learned during his own career. After several minutes, Enzo finally looked up.

"Bored?" James smiled.

"Actually..."

"I was watching you."

"Oh?"

"I've never seen you work." Enzo leaned back in his chair.

"There isn't much to see."

"I disagree." That answer caught Enzo off guard. James pointed toward the reports.

"You don't read every line."

"You scan first."

"Then you go back only when something catches your attention." Enzo slowly lowered his pen. James continued.

"You also compare today's figures with yesterday's before checking weekly production."

"You aren't reading numbers."

"You're looking for patterns." Silence. Complete silence. Enzo stared at his grandson.

"... How..." James immediately realized he had said too much. Thinking quickly, he shrugged.

"I just watched." Enzo narrowed his eyes slightly.

"No."

"You observed." James smiled awkwardly.

"Maybe." A faint grin slowly appeared on Enzo's face.

"You really are something else."

Another knock interrupted them.

"Chairman?" Marcus entered carrying another folder.

"Sorry to interrupt."

"I thought you'd like to know..." He smiled proudly.

"Assembly Line Two just finished today's quota nearly forty minutes ahead of schedule." Enzo looked genuinely pleased.

"Excellent." Marcus placed the folder on the desk.

"The workers have been motivated lately." James asked,"Why?" Marcus looked toward him.

"Because your grandfather." He smiled.

"Whenever production exceeds expectations..."

"He gives everyone an extra paid day off." James blinked.

"You do?" Enzo looked almost embarrassed.

"They work hard."

"They deserve it." Marcus laughed.

"That's why no one wants to leave this company." James looked from Marcus to Enzo. Then toward the bustling factory outside the window. His heart grew heavier. This... This is exactly why Thompson Manufacturing deserved to survive. It wasn't simply another manufacturer. It was a community. A place where hundreds of families built their lives. Children went to school because of these paychecks. Mortgages were paid because of these contracts.

Dinner tables across Brooklyn depended on the decisions made inside this office. The bankruptcy hadn't merely destroyed a company. It had shattered hundreds of futures. James quietly clenched his fists. No. He wouldn't allow history to repeat itself. Not while he still possessed the knowledge of the future. Not while Enzo was still alive. Not while Thompson Manufacturing still stood proudly beneath the autumn sky. For the first time since waking in 1970...

James truly understood the weight of the mission he had accepted. He wasn't fighting to save a business. He was fighting to preserve a legacy. ☆☆☆☆☆ Arc 1: A Second Beginning October 11, 1970 The remainder of the morning passed quietly. James remained seated in one of the leather chairs opposite Enzo's desk, observing everything without speaking unless spoken to. It reminded him of his first year as a university lecturer.

He had once told his students, > "If you want to understand how a company truly works, spend a day watching the people instead of the numbers." Today, he was following his own advice. Every ten or fifteen minutes, someone entered the Chairman's office. Some came with reports.

Others requested signatures. A few simply sought Enzo's opinion. No one lingered longer than necessary. There was discipline. Respect. Efficiency. Around ten o'clock, another knock echoed through the office.

"Come in." The door opened, revealing a man in a charcoal-gray suit carrying a leather briefcase. He appeared to be in his late thirties, with neatly combed dark hair and thin-rimmed glasses. His posture was impeccable.

"Good morning, Enzo."

"Anthony." The two men shook hands warmly. James immediately recognized him. Anthony Russo. The company's corporate attorney. Son of Jake Russo. Enzo gestured toward James.

"You remember my grandson." Anthony smiled.

"Of course." He crouched slightly to James's eye level.

"Good morning, James."

"Good morning, Mr. Russo." Anthony chuckled.

"You've gotten taller." James smiled politely.

"So have you." For a second... Anthony blinked. Then I laughed.

"I suppose I have." Enzo burst into laughter.

"Wahaha!"

"I like that answer." Anthony stood and placed his briefcase on one of the chairs.

"I've brought the revised drafts."

"The Department of Defense requested a few additional clauses." James quietly watched. Anthony opened several neatly organized folders. His movements were precise. Methodical. He clearly had years of experience despite still being relatively young. As the discussion began, James focused on listening rather than speaking.

"... They're requesting guaranteed production flexibility." Anthony adjusted his glasses.

"If another escalation occurs overseas, they want the authority to increase monthly orders with minimal notice." Enzo frowned.

"Again?" Anthony nodded.

"They're worried current estimates won't be enough." Enzo leaned back in his chair.

"Hm..." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"They're expecting the war to continue." Anthony didn't answer immediately. Finally, he said carefully,"Officially..."

"No one knows." Unofficially... The silence itself answered the question. James looked down. History repeating itself... He already knew what the coming years would bring. More demand. More pressure. More manufacturers fighting for contracts. Exactly as he had explained to himself after awakening. Anthony continued.

"They're also asking whether Thompson Manufacturing intends to participate in the 1971 renewal." Enzo nodded slowly.

"I expected that." Anthony opened another folder.

"They'd like an answer before the end of the year." James noticed something. Anthony wasn't trying to persuade Enzo. He was simply presenting the legal facts. Professional. Objective. Exactly what a corporate attorney should be.

After nearly half an hour, the meeting concluded. Anthony closed his briefcase.

"I'll prepare the remaining documents."

"Grazie." Anthony smiled.

"I'll see you later this week." As he reached the doorway, he looked toward James.

"Study hard." James smiled.

"I will." The door closed behind him. For several seconds, neither grandfather nor grandson spoke. Finally... Enzo sighed.

"The government never stops asking." James looked at him.

"Is that stressful?" Enzo laughed quietly.

"It comes with the job." He stood from behind his desk and walked toward the window overlooking the factory.

"You know..."

"When I first came to America..."

"I never imagined something like this." James joined him. Enzo rested one hand on the window frame.

"I arrived with two suitcases."

"I barely spoke English."

"I knew nobody."

"My pockets..." He smiled.

"Were almost empty." James remained silent. He had heard parts of this story before. But this time... He listened differently.

"I worked wherever I could."

"Loading trucks."

"Cleaning warehouses."

"Moving heavy equipment."

"My hands bled almost every day." He held up his palms. The calluses were still visible after three decades.

"Then I met your grandmother." His expression softened.

"Claire believed in me before I believed in myself." James smiled faintly.

"She gave you a chance." Enzo nodded.

"More than that."

"She gave me a family." For a few moments, the two simply stood there. Watching workers move across the factory yard. Forklifts carried enormous wooden crates. A freight truck slowly exited through the main gate. The company functioned like a living organism. Every department depended upon another. Every worker trusted someone else. Enzo broke the silence.

"Joseph loved standing here." James looked toward him.

"He used to watch the workers."

"He said it reminded him why we worked so hard." Enzo smiled sadly.

"He always said...""'Those aren't employees.'""'They're families.'" James lowered his head. His father... Even though he remembered so little from childhood... The older James remembered hearing those exact words during company gatherings. Joseph had genuinely believed them. Enzo looked toward his grandson.

"You have his eyes." James swallowed.

"I know."

Just before noon, Leslie knocked once again.

"Chairman."

"Yes?"

"Lunch has arrived." Enzo glanced at the clock.

"Already?" She smiled.

"You've been working for almost four hours." Enzo laughed.

"I suppose I have." Leslie placed two paper bags on the coffee table.

"I ordered for James as well." James looked surprised.

"You didn't have to." She smiled warmly.

"Growing boys shouldn't skip lunch." After thanking her, James opened the bag. A roast beef sandwich. An apple. A bottle of milk. Simple. Nutritious. Enzo's lunch wasn't much different. The Chairman of a multi-million-dollar manufacturing company... I ate almost the same meal as everyone else. James couldn't help smiling. No wonder people respected you. There wasn't an ounce of extravagance in Enzo. His only expensive indulgence was the crimson Maranello parked outside. Everything else...

He considered it unnecessary. As they ate together in the office, conversation turned lighter.

"So..." Enzo began.

"What do you think of the factory?" James looked around once more.

"I think..." He paused.

"... it's bigger than I remembered." Enzo laughed.

"Now that sounds like a proper ten-year-old answer." James laughed with him.

"I had to say something my age eventually." Enzo looked at him curiously.

"What do you mean?" James quickly took another bite of his sandwich.

"Nothing."

"Hmm..." Enzo wasn't convinced. But he let it go.

When lunchtime ended, James wandered toward one of the bookshelves while Enzo returned to work. Most of the books concerned manufacturing. Textile engineering. Industrial management. Accounting. Corporate law. He gently ran his fingers along their worn spines. So much knowledge. So many years of experience gathered in one room. Then his eyes stopped on a framed photograph sitting alone on a shelf. Joseph. Taylor. Little James. Taken only months before the plane crash. Everyone was smiling.

James carefully picked up the frame. His younger self sat on Joseph's shoulders while Taylor laughed beside them. His throat tightened. Dad... Mom... He had spent decades believing those memories were gone forever. Yet here they were. Frozen in time. Waiting for him. He carefully returned the photograph to its place. One day... He would save them too. But not yet. The plane crash was still nearly three years away. Changing too much, too quickly, could have consequences he couldn't predict. For now...

His first objective remained unchanged. Protect Enzo. Protect Thompson Manufacturing. Everything else would come later. Outside the Chairman's office, the factory whistles announced the beginning of the afternoon shift. James looked out the window once more. The sun hung high above Brooklyn. Hundreds of workers resumed their duties. They had no idea that history itself had quietly begun to change. And neither did the world beyond those factory walls.

☆☆☆☆☆☆ Arc 1: A Second Beginning October 11, 1970 The afternoon unfolded at a steadier pace. Enzo spent the next several hours reviewing production reports, approving invoices, signing purchase orders, and discussing logistics with department supervisors. James remained quietly by his side. He had spoken very little throughout the day. Not because he had nothing to say. Quite the opposite. His mind constantly analyzed everything happening around him. Every report. Every conversation. Every decision.

He couldn't help it.

Decades of studying business had fundamentally changed the way he viewed the world. He noticed small inefficiencies in paperwork. He mentally calculated production costs as supervisors discussed material usage. He even estimated payroll expenses simply by observing the number of employees entering and leaving each department. Then... He stopped himself. Enough. You're ten. Act like it. It was a lesson he would need to repeat countless times over the coming years. Knowledge alone wouldn't save anyone.

Patience would.

Around three o'clock, Enzo finally closed the last folder on his desk. He stretched his arms before letting out a tired sigh.

"Finished." James smiled.

"Long day?" Enzo laughed.

"This?" He waved toward the neatly stacked documents.

"This was actually one of the easy days." James couldn't help shaking his head.

"And here I thought being Chairman meant sitting behind a desk giving orders."

"Wahaha!" Enzo laughed heartily.

"If only!" He stood and buttoned his suit jacket.

"Come."

"I want to show you something."

Instead of taking the elevator, Enzo led James down a wide staircase that connected directly to the factory floor. The noise grew louder with every step. The rhythmic pounding of industrial looms. The hiss of steam. The hum of conveyor belts. The voices of workers coordinating with one another. As the heavy steel doors opened... James froze. The factory floor stretched before him like a city unto itself. Rows upon rows of machinery operated in perfect synchronization. Workers moved confidently between stations.

Large rolls of fabric traveled overhead on suspended rails. Finished products were carefully inspected before being packed into wooden crates bearing the Thompson Manufacturing emblem. The atmosphere was alive. Not chaotic. Disciplined. Every employee seemed to understand exactly where they needed to be. The smell was unmistakable. Cotton. Wool. Machine oil. Freshly cut fabric. It transported James back over fifty years in an instant. He remembered visiting the factory as a child.

He remembered running through these aisles until Enzo scolded him for nearly colliding with a cart full of materials. He even remembered the day the machines had fallen silent forever. That silence had haunted him. Seeing the factory alive again... It felt almost miraculous.

"Chairman!" One by one, workers noticed Enzo's arrival. Many waved. Others nodded respectfully without interrupting their tasks. Enzo greeted almost everyone by name.

"How is your daughter doing, Michael?"

"Better, thank you, sir."

"Good."

"And your wife's surgery?"

"She's recovering well."

"Excellent." A little farther ahead...

"Tom!" The middle-aged worker looked up from his station.

"Chairman!"

"How is your shoulder?" Tom rotated his arm proudly.

"Good as new." Enzo laughed.

"I told you the doctor knew what he was doing." James observed every interaction. None of them felt forced. Enzo genuinely remembered these people. He remembered their lives. Their struggles. Their families. That level of trust couldn't be bought. It had to be earned.

Eventually, they reached Assembly Line Two. Marcus Carter stood beside several supervisors reviewing production figures on a clipboard. Upon noticing Enzo, he immediately approached.

"Chairman."

"Marcus." Enzo gestured toward the busy production line.

"Everything on schedule?" Marcus nodded confidently.

"We're actually ahead." He handed over the clipboard.

"We've reduced material waste by nearly three percent compared to last month." Enzo's eyebrows rose.

"Three percent?" Marcus smiled.

"We reorganized the cutting stations."

"The workers themselves suggested the changes." Enzo looked genuinely pleased.

"Excellent initiative." James glanced toward the cutting area. He quickly understood what Marcus meant. The new arrangement shortened the distance workers had to carry fabric between stations. Simple. Practical. Effective. Marcus noticed James studying the floor.

"What do you think?" James hesitated. Should he answer honestly? He decided to keep it simple.

"It looks... efficient." Marcus laughed.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It is." James smiled. Marcus looked at Enzo.

"You've got quite the observant grandson." Enzo chuckled.

"Believe me..."

"I've noticed."

As they continued walking, James suddenly noticed an older man teaching a young employee how to operate one of the looms. The veteran never raised his voice. He patiently demonstrated every movement before allowing the younger worker to try. When the apprentice made a mistake... The older man simply corrected him and smiled. No yelling. No insults. Just patience. James quietly asked,"Grandpa..."

"Hm?"

"How many people work here?" Enzo thought for a moment.

"Just over six hundred." James looked across the enormous factory. Six hundred. Six hundred employees. Which meant... Well over two thousand people depended on Thompson Manufacturing when counting spouses and children. The number lingered heavily in his mind. This wasn't merely a business. It was the livelihood of an entire community. And in five years... Without intervention... It would all disappear. No. He refused to accept that future.

The factory whistle echoed through the building. Several workers looked toward the clock. Shift change. One group prepared to leave while another entered through the side doors. Despite the transition, production barely slowed. James watched the choreography with fascination. He had lectured university students about operational efficiency countless times. Yet seeing it in person... It was entirely different. A textbook could never capture this.

As the afternoon drew to a close, Enzo and James returned to the Chairman's office. The autumn sun hung lower in the sky now, casting long golden rays through the office windows. Enzo loosened his tie before sinking into his chair with a satisfied sigh.

"So..." He smiled.

"Still interested in encyclopedias?" James laughed.

"I think I found something even more interesting."

"Oh?"

"The factory." Enzo nodded proudly.

"It grows on people." James looked out the window one last time.

"No..." He said quietly.

"It gives people hope." Enzo tilted his head.

"What was that?" James smiled.

"I said..."

"I understand why you love this place." The older man looked at him for several seconds before smiling warmly.

"I hope one day..."

"... you'll love it too." James met his grandfather's gaze. His answer came without hesitation.

"I already do."

The drive back to Manhattan was peaceful. The city glowed beneath the warm colors of the setting sun. Traffic was heavier now. Workers filled the sidewalks after finishing their shifts. Street vendors prepared for the evening rush. Neon signs slowly flickered to life. James rested his head against the passenger window, silently watching New York pass by. Every street held memories. Some joyful. Some are painful. But now... Those memories were no longer fixed. For the first time in over half a century...

The future wasn't something he remembered. It was something he could change.

That night, after dinner, James returned to his room. He opened the notebook he had begun the previous day. On the first page, beneath the three names he had written— Enzo Lombardi Thompson Manufacturing Family —he added a fourth line. Objective One: Earn Grandpa's Trust. He stared at those words for a long moment. That was the foundation. Without Enzo's trust... Nothing else would matter. Not his knowledge. Not the future. Not even Thompson Manufacturing.

James closed the notebook and placed it carefully inside the bottom drawer of his desk. Outside, Manhattan settled into another quiet October night. Inside a modest apartment on East Street... A ten-year-old boy lay awake, not because he feared tomorrow... But because, for the first time in his life... He was looking forward to it.