"By exploiting people who have no other choice," Robert said softly. "People like Margaret. She worked sixteen-hour shifts at our mill, Thomas. *Our* mill. She bled. She coughed. She destroyed her health, all to make barely enough to feed her daughter. And we profited from that suffering."
"Dad, she chose to work there. No one forced her."
"She chose between working there and starving. That's not a real choice, Thomas. That's desperation disguised as choice."
Father and son stared at each other, an impasse forming between them.
Finally, Thomas said, "I'll stay for the weekend. I'll stay until Monday morning. But I won't stay two weeks. That's not reasonable."
"It's a start," Robert said. "Come on. Let me show you where I've been living."
Robert had been released from the hospital that morning, and he was staying temporarily with Margaret and Sarah again while he continued to recover. Thomas followed his father to the tiny wooden house, and Margaret saw him catalog every detail with those calculating eyes: the tin roof with holes, the worn furniture, the single main room that served as living room, kitchen, and bedroom.
"This is where you've been staying?" Thomas asked quietly.
"This is where Margaret and Sarah took me in when I had nowhere else to go. This is where I remembered what it means to be human."
Sarah, who had been quiet through all of this, finally spoke up. Her voice was small, but clear. "Mr. Thomas, your dad is really nice. He helped me with my homework, and he fixed our fence, and he tells good stories. We like having him here."
Thomas looked down at the little girl, and something flickered across his face. For just a moment, his hard expression softened. "I'm sure he does," Thomas said, his voice a bit gentler. "And I'm grateful you took care of him." But then he turned back to Robert, and the hardness returned. "Dad, can we speak outside?"
They walked out to the small yard, leaving Margaret and Sarah inside. Through the window, Margaret could see them talking, their body language tense. Thomas was gesturing sharply, his voice rising. Robert stood firm, shaking his head. The conversation went on for nearly an hour. When they finally came back inside, Thomas looked frustrated, and Robert looked exhausted.
"Dad's agreed to return to Atlanta next week," Thomas announced. "Once he's stronger. In the meantime, I've arranged for a nurse to stay here and monitor his condition."
"I don't need a nurse," Robert said tiredly. "Margaret's been taking excellent care of me."
"Nevertheless, it's arranged." Thomas turned to Margaret. "Mrs. Henderson, my assistant will contact you next week to arrange for appropriate compensation. Please compile a list of all expenses you incurred related to my father's care."
"I don't want—" Margaret began.
"It's not negotiable," Thomas said firmly. "The Harrison family pays its debts. You'll be compensated fairly."
He made it sound like a business transaction, Margaret thought. Like she was a vendor who had provided a service. She wanted to argue, but she saw Robert give her a small shake of his head. *Let it go,* his expression said. *Pick your battles.*
Thomas left shortly after, promising to return in a few days to help facilitate Robert's return to Atlanta. As his car disappeared down the road, Robert sank into a chair, looking defeated.
"He doesn't understand," Robert said quietly. "He doesn't see it. To him, business is just numbers and strategies. People are labor units, not human beings."
"Did I used to be like that?" he asked, looking at Margaret with anguish. "When I built this company, when I made my fortune, was I like Thomas?"
Margaret considered her answer carefully. "I don't know who you were then. I only know who you are now. And maybe that's what matters."
"But it's not enough, is it? Because the company is still operating the same way. Workers are still being exploited, and Thomas thinks that's not just acceptable, but admirable. He's proud of his 38% profit increase. He doesn't think about the human cost of that increase."
Sarah climbed into Robert's lap, something she'd started doing over the past weeks. "Maybe you just need to help him see what you see," she said. "Like how Mama helped me see that sharing is important even when it's hard."
Robert hugged her. "I hope you're right, little one. I really do."
But over the next few days, as Thomas returned for brief visits, it became clear that changing his mind wouldn't be easy. Thomas was respectful to Margaret and Sarah, but distant. He treated them politely but impersonally, like staff at a hotel. He didn't see them as people with their own stories, their own struggles, their own worth beyond their connection to his father. And when Robert tried to talk to him about changing the company's practices, Thomas became defensive and dismissive.
"Dad, I understand you've been through a lot, but you can't let one emotional experience dictate major business decisions. We have responsibilities to our shareholders. To our board."
"What about our responsibilities to our workers?" Robert asked.
"We provide them with employment. That's our responsibility. The rest is up to them."
Margaret, listening to these conversations, felt a growing worry. Robert wanted so badly to make things right, to change the system he'd helped create. But his own son, the person with the most power to implement those changes, couldn't or wouldn't see the need.
One evening, after Thomas had left for the day, Robert sat with Margaret on the small porch.
"I failed him," Robert said quietly. "I taught him all the wrong lessons. I showed him that success meant money and power. That profit was the measure of achievement. I never taught him about compassion, about responsibility to community, about the value of human dignity."