Chapter 10: The Harvest Banquet
A year after the confrontation in the lobby, the Palm Crest Resort hosted its annual *Castile Foundation Community Gala*.
The event was not for luxury developers or high-society socialites.
The grand ballroom was filled with three hundred line workers, housekeepers, kitchen staff, local teachers, and their families. Long buffet tables groaned beneath the weight of roasted meats, fresh seafood, and homemade pies prepared by the resort’s executive chefs.
Margaret sat at the central table, wearing her favorite navy silk blouse and pearl earrings, laughing as Maria—now in her second year at Cornell—presented her thesis on fair-wage hospitality models.
Arthur Campbell walked over, leaning down to whisper in Margaret’s ear.
""There is someone outside on the terrace, Margaret,"" Arthur said softly. ""He asked if he could speak to you for five minutes.""
Margaret stood up, smoothed her slacks, and walked through the arched glass doors onto the oceanfront terrace.
The Atlantic breeze blew cool and sweet across the stone balustrade.
Standing near the railing was Mark.
He wore a simple, well-fitted dark tweed jacket, clean trousers, and polished leather work boots. His face was tanned, his jawline sharp, his hands rough and calloused. In his posture, there was no trace of the frantic, insecure man who had waved a credit card at a desk twelve months ago.
May you like
He stood with the quiet, grounded dignity of a craftsman.
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