Aston Marsh chuckled, seeing Adrian Hawthorne in a new light. The boy was calm and composed, keenly observant, had a clear thought process, and spoke exceptionally well. 'He's definitely destined for great things.' It was a good idea to form a positive connection with him now. Life was unpredictable, and this connection might just come in handy one day.
"You're right. Right now, I'm worried the factory will go bankrupt. If it does, everyone there will be left with nothing."
Aston Marsh sighed, a weight settling in his chest. The towel factory had been built before the Liberation and had weathered decades of storms. He had seen it through its golden age—a glorious time when he was on the road all year round, the factory worked day and night to rush out orders, and their products were even exported abroad. But now, half the machines in the workshop stood idle, and the workers spent their days chatting and playing cards. Any sign of vitality was completely gone.
