Sam’s hidden Ashes

The sleek boardroom gleamed under harsh fluorescent lights. Investors sat around a polished oak table, papers and tablets in hand. Sam sat at the head, his fingers steepled, jaw tight.

“Samuel,” one investor began, voice smooth but firm, “automation will increase profits and market share. It’s the logical step.”

Sam looked around the room, meeting each other’s expectant gaze. “I respect that,” he said slowly, “but Torres & Sons isn’t just about profit. It’s about craft, legacy, and people. You can’t automate soul.”

A murmur rippled through the room. The business manager leaned in, whispering, “We can’t afford to fall behind.”

Sam clenched his fists beneath the table. “I’ll not sacrifice the artisanship my family built for quick gains.”

After the meeting, he stepped out into the cool evening, the city’s neon glows a blur. He drove to the cemetery on the outskirts, the place where grief and hope collided.

Standing before his father’s grave, he spoke softly, “Dad, I’m trying to honor you and Mom. Sometimes it feels like I’m carrying too much, but I won’t let go.”

His voice cracked, the years of silent sorrow pressing heavily on his chest.

A breeze whispered through the trees, as if answering his unspoken fears.

...****************...

The othered side of thee city

🌆

The auditorium buzzed softly as Autumn stepped onto the stage, the bright lights blinding at first. Applause rippled through the crowd, but inside, her heart thudded unevenly.

She scanned the faces of colleagues, clients, her parents in the front row, smiling but distant. Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, and her father sat upright, eyes sharp and expectant.

The award felt heavy in her hands, a trophy of achievement that hadn’t filled the hollow inside.

After the ceremony, her parents approached, faces polite but reserved.

“Well done, Autumn,” her father said, voice steady. “You’ve made us proud.”

Her mother added softly, “You’re so responsible. Such a bright future.”

She wanted to tell them that their pride felt conditional earned only by accomplishments, not by whom she was beneath perfection.

But the words caught in her throat.

Later, alone in her apartment, she stared at the award on her dresser. The room was quiet, except for the hum of the city beyond the window.

She sank onto the bed, the weight of loneliness pressing down like a physical force.

No hugs. No “I love you just because.”

Only achievements. Only expectations.

She reached for her journal and wrote slowly, “What if I’m just a collection of good grades and perfect numbers? What if no one loves the girl behind the success?”

The tears came quietly, like rain slipping through cracks in the windowpane.

...ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ...

...Next morning ...

The morning sun poured through the towering glass facade of Torres & Sons headquarters, casting long golden beams across the polished marble floors. Autumn adjusted the strap of her leather bag as she stepped inside, the faint scent of varnished wood and fresh paint welcoming her.

Her heartbeat steadily but with a flutter of nerves. This was her first day overseeing the complicated tax restructuring for one of the city’s most prestigious companies, and the weight of the responsibility pressed gently against her shoulders.

The lobby bustled with executives in tailored suits and interns clutching tablets, but Autumn’s eyes searched for one figure, Sam Torres.

He appeared suddenly, his sleeves casually rolled up, dusted with sawdust from his morning workshop. His dark eyes met hers, calm yet piercing, and a flicker of something unreadable passed between them.

“Good morning, Naomi,” he said, voice low but warm.

She blinked, surprised by the ease in his tone. “Good morning, Mr. Torres.”

“Please, call me Sam,” he said with a faint smile.

Her cheeks warmed. “Of course.”

The first meeting was intense. Numbers and spreadsheets filled the large oak conference table, but beneath the figures were stories of legacy and family pride Sam guarded fiercely.

Autumn’s questions were sharp and precise. “Can you explain this discrepancy in last quarter’s materials cost?”

Sam leaned forward, fingers interlacing. “That’s from a handcrafted batch. Some costs aren’t perfectly tracked because of the artisanal process.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That could cause issues with compliance.”

“We manage it carefully,” Sam replied, eyes steady. “Because quality isn’t always a clean ledger.”

Their dialogue danced between confrontation and curiosity, two worlds clashing but slowly finding rhythm.

By the end of the day, Autumn left the building with a mixture of exhaustion and intrigue. The city hummed around her, lights flickering on as dusk settled, but in her mind, Sam Torres lingered a mystery wrapped in sawdust and sharp eyes.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***