Chương 4: A Second Beginning IV

Arc 1: A Second Beginning October 15, 1970 James awoke before his alarm. For a few seconds, he simply stared at the ceiling. Today. Everything he had done over the previous five days had been preparation for this evening. He had observed. Listened. Learned. More importantly... He had allowed Enzo to slowly notice the changes in him. Had he brought up the military contracts on October 10, his grandfather would have dismissed him as an emotional child. Now...

After five days of reading newspapers, asking thoughtful questions, visiting the factory, and showing an unusual interest in the business, the conversation had a chance of succeeding. Not because Enzo would agree. Because he would listen. That alone was enough.

The kitchen was filled with the aroma of fresh coffee and toasted bread. Enzo was already reading the morning newspaper. James noticed the sports page lying beside his plate. The old Italian looked unusually cheerful.

"Morning, Grandpa."

"Morning, James." Enzo tapped the sports page.

"Still rumors." James sat down.

"About Malik King?" Enzo nodded.

"They still say he might return." James pretended to read the article. The rumors had become stronger. Sports journalists were divided. Some insisted the former champion had been secretly training. Others dismissed the stories as publicity designed to revive public interest in boxing. James smiled inwardly. Five more days. He folded the paper and handed it back.

"I guess we'll find out soon enough." Enzo laughed.

"If he actually comes back..."

"I'll buy every newspaper in New York." James grinned.

"I'll remember that."

School passed uneventfully. Mrs. Parker held the promised current-events discussion. Students presented articles ranging from baseball scores to local politics. When James's turn came, he stood calmly beside his desk.

"I chose an article about manufacturing." A few classmates groaned dramatically. Michael Henderson buried his face in his arms.

"I knew he'd pick something boring." The classroom erupted with laughter. Even Mrs. Parker smiled. James laughed along with them.

"I promise I'll make it short." He summarized the article about rising production costs and transportation expenses. Instead of using technical language, he explained it simply.

"If factories spend more money making things..."

"They usually have to charge customers more." Mrs. Parker nodded approvingly.

"Excellent explanation."

"You made a complicated topic easy to understand." James thanked her and returned to his seat. As the lesson continued, he reflected on her words. Maybe teaching really had become part of me. Even after returning to childhood... He naturally explained things the way a professor would.

Classes ended shortly after three. When James climbed into the Maranello, Enzo smiled.

"So?"

"How did today's presentation go?"

"You knew?" Enzo laughed.

"Your teacher called yesterday."

"She said the class was discussing newspapers today." James shook his head.

"I think it went well."

"You think?"

"I explained manufacturing costs." Enzo blinked.

"To ten-year-olds?" James nodded.

"They understood." Enzo laughed so hard he nearly missed shifting gears.

"Wahaha!"

"My grandson explains economics in elementary school." James smiled sheepishly.

"I kept it simple."

"I'm sure you did."

Instead of heading straight home, they stopped at a neighborhood grocery store. Enzo pushed the shopping cart while James followed. They picked up vegetables. Fresh bread. Pasta. Tomatoes. Ground beef. A bottle of olive oil imported from Italy. As they reached the checkout counter, an elderly cashier greeted Enzo warmly. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Lombardi."

"Afternoon, Margaret." She smiled at James.

"My, you've grown." James smiled politely.

"Thank you." Margaret looked toward Enzo.

"He always has such good manners." Enzo placed a hand on James's shoulder.

"My grandson makes me proud." James felt an unexpected warmth in his chest. Those simple words... Meant more than Enzo could possibly know.

Back at the apartment, the evening settled peacefully. The aroma of simmering tomato sauce soon filled the kitchen. Enzo had insisted on cooking himself.

"You cannot rush proper pasta." He declared proudly. James chuckled.

"I've heard you say that before."

"I'll keep saying it." Dinner wasn't ready yet. While Enzo stirred the sauce, James quietly entered the living room and switched on the television. The black-and-white screen flickered to life. The evening news had just begun.

"... continued developments overseas..."

"... economic analysts predict..."

"... manufacturing output..." James listened carefully. Every report. Every statistic. Every interview. Not because he needed today's news. Because today's news awakened tomorrow's memories. One report briefly mentioned the growth of recreational travel across the United States. Families purchasing campers. Camping equipment. Outdoor clothing. James's eyes narrowed. There it is again. The pattern. This was the third time in only a few days that he'd encountered information pointing toward the same trend.

His conviction strengthened. His future strategy for Thompson Manufacturing wasn't based solely on memory anymore. The present itself was supporting it.

"James!" Enzo called from the kitchen.

"Dinner!" James turned off the television.

"I'm coming." The dining table was already set. Two steaming plates of pasta rested at the center. A basket of warm bread sat beside a small bowl of grated cheese. Enzo poured sparkling water into both glasses before taking his seat. For a few minutes... The only sounds were forks against ceramic plates. The food was excellent. James had missed his grandfather's cooking more than he had ever realized. Halfway through dinner, Enzo leaned back in his chair.

"So..." James looked up.

"Hm?"

"You've been awfully thoughtful these past few days."

"I have?"

"You've been reading newspapers."

"Listening to the news."

"Asking about the factory."

"Watching me work."

"You even explained manufacturing costs to your classmates." He smiled.

"What is going on inside that head of yours?" James placed his fork down gently. His heartbeat quickened. This... Was the opening he had been waiting for. He looked directly into Enzo's eyes. A calm smile slowly appeared on his face.

"Grandpa..."

"I want to make a bet with you." Enzo blinked once. Then twice.

"A bet?" James nodded.

"Yes." The old Italian leaned back, folding his arms with an amused smile.

"Wahaha!"

"Now you've got my attention."

"What kind of bet?" James's expression remained steady. The moment that would begin changing history... Had finally arrived. -☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ Arc 1: A Second Beginning October 15, 1970 The apartment fell quiet. Outside, Manhattan continued its evening rhythm. Car horns echoed from the avenue below. The occasional rumble of the subway could be felt through the old building. Somewhere in the distance, a police siren wailed before fading into the city. Inside the Lombardi apartment...

Only the ticking of the wall clock remained. Enzo looked across the dining table at his grandson. His expression was amused. Curious.

"What kind of bet?" James had rehearsed this moment countless times over the past five days. Not because he didn't know what to say. Because every word mattered. One careless sentence could make Enzo dismiss everything as childish fantasy. James met his grandfather's eyes.

"First..."

"I need to ask you something." Enzo nodded.

"Go ahead."

"You still follow boxing?" The old Italian smiled almost immediately.

"Of course."

"There is no better sport." James grinned.

"Not even football?" Enzo placed a hand dramatically over his heart.

"You wound me."

"They are different."

"Football is passion."

"Boxing..." He paused for a moment.

"... boxing is character." James smiled. That answer... It was exactly the kind of thing Enzo would say.

"So yes." Enzo continued.

"I still follow it."

"It just isn't the same anymore." His smile faded slightly.

"Not since Malik King retired." James nodded slowly.

"I thought you would say that." Enzo looked puzzled.

"Oh?" James leaned forward just enough to show he was serious.

"That's the bet."

"The bet?"

"I bet that Malik King will return to professional boxing." Enzo blinked. Then laughed. Not a polite chuckle. A full, booming laugh that echoed through the apartment.

"Wahahaha!"

"Oh, James..." He wiped a tear from the corner of one eye.

"Where did you hear something like that?" James simply smiled.

"I'm serious." Enzo shook his head.

"My boy..."

"Malik gave up everything because of the Vietnam situation."

"They stripped him of his championship."

"He has been away from the ring for years."

"People have been talking about a comeback forever."

"It has never happened." James nodded.

"I know."

"So?"

"So..." James looked directly into Enzo's eyes.

"I believe he'll return." Enzo leaned back in his chair.

"And?"

"And I believe he'll fight Victor Stone." This time... Enzo's laughter stopped. His eyebrows slowly rose.

"Victor Stone?" James nodded.

"October twenty-six."

"In Atlanta."

"He'll win." Silence. Enzo stared at him. For several seconds, he said nothing. Then...

"You've thought this through." James simply smiled.

"I have." The old Italian folded his arms.

"Suppose..." He spoke slowly.

"... that I humor you."

"What exactly are we betting?" James inhaled quietly. Here it comes.

"If you win..."

"I'll make you a promise." Enzo nodded.

"What promise?" James answered without hesitation.

"I'll score a perfect sixteen hundred on the SAT." Enzo's eyes widened slightly.

"I'll maintain a GPA above four point five." The chairman's expression became more serious.

"And when I'm old enough..." James continued.

"I'll apply to Hawthorne University." The room became completely silent. Enzo slowly lowered his hands onto the table. His gaze remained fixed on James.

"... You know what you're promising?"

"I do."

"Those are enormous promises."

"I know." Enzo studied him carefully. Children often made exaggerated promises.

"I'll become an astronaut."

"I'll become president."

"I'll become the richest man alive." But James... Didn't sound like he was dreaming. He sounded... Committed. Finally... Enzo smiled faintly.

"I don't think those promises scare you." James smiled back.

"They don't."

"No." Enzo nodded slowly.

"They don't." He leaned forward.

"Which means..." His smile became knowing.

"... whatever you want from me..."

"... must be much bigger." James's smile disappeared. He slowly placed both hands on the table.

"It is." Enzo's expression also became serious.

"What do you want?" James looked directly into his grandfather's eyes.

"If I win..."

"I want Thompson Manufacturing to withdraw from the 1971 military contract renewals." The words landed like thunder. Enzo didn't react immediately. He simply stared. His face was completely expressionless. The silence stretched. Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen. Finally...

"... What?" James repeated calmly.

"I want us to leave the military business." Enzo continued staring. As though he hadn't heard correctly. Then he stood up so suddenly that his chair scraped loudly across the wooden floor.

"James." His voice remained calm. Too calm.

"Do you understand..."

"... what you just asked me?" James nodded.

"I do."

"No." Enzo slowly shook his head.

"I don't think you do." He walked toward the living room window before turning back.

"Those contracts..." He pointed toward the floor.

"They built everything."

"The factory."

"The machinery."

"The savings."

"The salaries."

"Our reputation."

"They gave Thompson Manufacturing stability." He looked at James.

"They gave us stability." James remained seated. Listening. Enzo continued.

"And now..."

"... my ten-year-old grandson wants me to throw them away." The apartment fell silent once more. James didn't interrupt. He let Enzo finish. The old Italian crossed his arms. His voice softened.

"James..."

"I know you've become more mature."

"I know you've been thinking about the company."

"And I couldn't be prouder." He smiled sadly.

"But this..." He slowly shook his head.

"... this isn't asking me to change a product."

"It isn't asking me to buy new machines."

"It isn't asking me to hire more workers." He looked directly at James.

"This is asking me to gamble with the future of six hundred families." James quietly stood.

"I know." Enzo frowned.

"No..."

"You cannot know."

"I do." James answered softly.

"I know exactly how heavy that responsibility is." Something about the way James said those words... Made Enzo's heartbeat skip. Not the words themselves. The conviction behind them. It didn't sound like imagination. It sounded... Like experience. Enzo looked at his grandson for a long moment. For the first time in his life... He couldn't read what James was thinking. And somehow... That unsettled him. ☆☆☆☆☆ Arc 1: A Second Beginning October 15, 1970 The silence lingered.

The grandfather clock in the living room ticked steadily. Each second seemed louder than the last. Enzo slowly returned to his chair. He did not sit immediately. Instead, he rested both hands against its backrest, his eyes never leaving James.

"... Explain." James nodded once.

"I will."

"But before I do..." He looked directly at Enzo.

"I want you to promise me one thing." Enzo raised an eyebrow.

"Another condition?"

"No."

"I just want you to listen until I'm finished."

"No interruptions."

"If, after that..."

"You still think my idea is foolish..." James shrugged slightly.

"I won't mention it again." Enzo remained silent. He had spent decades negotiating contracts. He knew confidence when he saw it. James wasn't speaking like a child trying to win an argument. He was speaking like someone presenting a proposal. Finally... Enzo nodded.

"... Fine."

"I'll listen." James took a slow breath. He had imagined this conversation hundreds of times during his first life. Now... It was finally happening.

"Grandpa..."

"When I talk about the future..."

"I don't mean next month."

"I don't even mean next year." Enzo folded his arms but remained silent, honoring his promise.

"I mean the next ten years."

"The next twenty."

"The next generation." James paused.

"The military contracts saved Thompson Manufacturing."

"I completely agree with that."

"They allowed us to modernize the factory."

"They gave us financial stability."

"They gave us credibility." He looked around the apartment.

"Everything we have today..."

"Exists because of decisions you made fifteen years ago." For the first time since the conversation began... Enzo's expression softened. James wasn't dismissing his life's work. He was acknowledging it. James continued.

"But..."

"There is a difference between the decision that makes you successful..."

"And the decision that keeps you successful." Enzo's eyebrows narrowed slightly. James walked toward the window overlooking East Street. Cars passed below. People hurried home after work. The city never truly stopped moving.

"The world changes."

"So do markets."

"So do governments."

"So do wars." He turned back.

"If a company refuses to change with them..."

"It eventually disappears."

James walked back to the table.

"You've always taught me something." Enzo looked surprised.

"I did?"

"You once told me...""'Never fall in love with yesterday's success.'" The old Italian blinked.

"I... did say that." James smiled.

"You were right." Enzo couldn't remember when he had said it. But he recognized the phrase immediately. It was something he genuinely believed. James leaned forward slightly.

"Right now..."

"The Vietnam War is increasing demand for military equipment."

"That's true."

"It also means something else." Enzo waited.

"It attracts competitors." The Chairman's eyes sharpened. James continued.

"The bigger the money..."

"The more companies enter the market."

"The more companies enter..."

"The harder everyone fights."

"The harder they fight..."

"The lower the profit margins become." Enzo slowly uncrossed his arms. James noticed. He continued calmly.

"Not only that."

"Some companies won't compete honestly."

"They'll lobby."

"They'll underbid."

"They'll pressure politicians."

"They'll promise impossible production targets."

"They'll do anything necessary to secure government money." He paused.

"And once companies begin depending too much on military contracts..."

"They stop thinking like manufacturers."

"They start thinking like government suppliers." Silence. Complete silence. Enzo's fingers slowly tapped the table. Once. Twice. Three times. James recognized the habit. His grandfather only did that when deeply analyzing an idea.

James continued.

"Grandpa..."

"Who are our biggest competitors today?" Enzo answered almost automatically.

"The textile manufacturers in Tennessee."

"Alabama."

"Wisconsin."

"Pennsylvania." James nodded.

"Exactly." He walked toward a cabinet where several rolled production blueprints rested.

"You've visited all of them."

"I have."

"Which one has the largest production capacity?" Enzo answered without hesitation.

"Pennsylvania."

"Their facilities are enormous." James nodded again.

"And can we outproduce them?"

"... No."

"Can we outproduce Tennessee?"

"No."

"Alabama?"

"No."

"Wisconsin?" Enzo slowly shook his head.

"... No." James smiled faintly.

"Exactly." He wasn't smiling because Enzo was wrong. He was smiling because Enzo was honest.

"You built Thompson Manufacturing into one of New York's finest manufacturers."

"But we are still a medium-sized company."

"Our competitors..." He emphasized the word.

"... are becoming industrial giants." Enzo looked thoughtful. James pressed on.

"If this military market keeps expanding..."

"They'll expand faster than we can."

"They'll build larger factories."

"Purchase more machinery."

"Hire thousands more workers."

"And because they're larger..."

"They'll produce cheaper than we ever could." Enzo slowly lowered his gaze toward the table. James knew. The point had landed.

"But..." Enzo finally spoke. His promise not to interrupt had ended.

"If everything you say happens..."

"Wouldn't that mean we should stay?" James smiled.

"I was hoping you'd ask." Enzo almost laughed. Of course he was. James answered.

"If we stay..."

"We'll eventually be forced into an arms race."

"We'll need larger factories."

"More debt."

"More workers."

"More machinery."

"More dependence on Washington." He shook his head.

"That's a race we cannot win." Enzo remained silent. James continued.

"But if we leave now..."

"Before we're forced to..."

"We leave from a position of strength."

"We have ten million dollars."

"We have a spotless reputation."

"We have loyal employees."

"We have modern textile equipment."

"We have time." He let those words settle.

"Most companies only diversify when they're desperate."

"I want us to diversify while we're winning." The apartment became quiet once again. Enzo looked down at his hands. His weathered fingers bore scars accumulated over three decades of factory work. He had heard thousands of business proposals. Some good. Most terrible. This one... Was different. Not because it came from a child. Because... It actually made sense. And that realization frightened him. Because if James truly understood this much... Then who... Who exactly was sitting across the dinner table from him?

Enzo slowly lifted his head. His voice was quieter now.

"... Suppose..." He spoke carefully.

"... suppose I accepted your premise." James waited.

"What exactly..." Enzo leaned forward.

"... would you have Thompson Manufacturing become instead?" James smiled. This... Was the question he had been waiting for since the moment he returned to 1970. He already knew the answer.