Walter Bennett had spent decades surrounded by people who opened doors when

Six months later, the spring sun broke over the Manhattan skyline in a brilliant, blinding wash of gold and amber, burning away the lingering winter chill and flooding the city with the fierce, unstoppable energy of a new season.

At the entrance of the Bennett-Vance headquarters—now permanently rechristened the Bennett Foundation Trust—the heavy oak doors stood wide open, welcoming the morning commuters, students, and citizens streaming off Madison Avenue.

Inside, the marble floors were polished to a mirror finish, reflecting the warm sunlight streaming through the high arched windows.

Near the central information desk, nineteen-year-old Sarah—not Ethan’s mother, but a new intern hired through the foundation’s equitable recruitment program—sat at a clean, welcoming reception station, helping a visiting courier navigate the building's directory.

Across the room, standing beside a massive arrangement of fresh spring tulips, were Walter Bennett and Ethan Parker.

Walter wore a light linen duster over his tweed jacket, his hand resting lightly on his cane, watching the steady, peaceful flow of human traffic through the lobby.

"The board meeting is in ten minutes, Ethan," Walter noted, checking his silver pocket watch. "Are the audit reports finalized for the regional transport hubs?"

"Done and locked, Walter," Ethan replied, holding his pigskin portfolio under his arm. "Every warehouse in the tristate area is operating under the new safety and wage standards. Turnover is down forty percent, and morale is higher than it’s been in thirty years."

Walter nodded approvingly. "Good. Because tomorrow, we start on the European logistics network. I hope your passport is up to date."

Ethan laughed, a rich, confident sound. "Always is, Walter. Always is."

As they turned toward the private executive elevators, a young delivery courier walked through the front doors, carrying a heavy box of office supplies. He stopped hesitantly near the entrance, looking around the bright, unfamiliar lobby with a nervous expression.

Ethan stopped walking.

Without a word, he turned, walked over to the courier, and offered a warm, reassuring smile. "Morning. Looking for the mail room? It's down the service hall to your left. Let me help you with that box—it looks heavier than it is."

The courier’s shoulders dropped in immediate relief. "Thanks, man. I was worried I'd get yelled at for using the front entrance."