I see cold winds surround gruff men working briskly to melt steel. Each man brings his share of effort as they work like a cluster of ants while moving and packing newly wrought iron. The brick walled factory has many windows, and the dark smoke it exudes darkly blankets the surroundings in gloom. The contrast of molten steel and ice makes the factory all the more wondrous. I walk in while being led by my father, and he meets another man.

They start shaking hands, and it becomes very apparent how different their social standings are. The worker wears a baggy denim jacket with a hammer branded into its front while my dad wears a fine ivory colored sports coat over a fine brown shirt. The man’s pants are filthy with grease, and he wears shoes that have not been replaced in weeks. Holes are seen through the leather, and Dark Grey socks that were once fresh cotton peek through the gaps. My dad seems to avoid this look at all cost, and constantly dons new black leather shoes that glisten from waxes.

“Roger that Mr. Huxley. I’ll start organizing workers like you asked, and might I say that’s a fine young lad you have right there. What’s his name?”

The worker says while staring at me behind a matt of messy black hair covering his face, but I could still see a yellow smile slip through the cracks as he asks his question. My dad’s face scrunches for half a second before it straightens back into his usual prideful pose.

“His name is Anlok. He’s been doing very well in school recently, and I think he’ll be able to take over the company just fine someday. He's only 7, so fresh idea getting on his good side Jenkins,” my dad says while nudging the man's side softly albeit avoiding getting grease on his fine overcoat.

“I didn’t mean no harm by it sir. Just seeing what the little guy is like is all. You do the company right now Anlok. We workers depend on people like you and your dad to keep us in work,” he says while flashing his yellow maw.

“No. It’s you people who keep our company strong. I’d have to be an idiot to overlook how much you work. Thank you, “ I say.

Jenkins smiles more genuinely and his chest puffs a little more. My dad's face forms an irritated scowl, but he decides to let it slide. The man tips his flat denim cap before heading back inside of the barely lit factory. In the glimpse of the door opening I hear sounds of loud machinery and see thin metal catwalks connecting the factory.

The door closes and my dad says, “Please don’t encourage them son. They’ll stab you in the back if you get too comfortable. Remember that poor people only act nice because we have what they want. If the tables were turned we would be the ones working so hard everyday.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“What’s so bad about that? Seems like you’d make a lot of good friends working so hard everyday,” I reply.

My dad lowers his eyes to my level and replies, “Maybe, but they’d be the same poor people who would stab you in the back for another dollar.”

I nod to appease my father before we walk back to the stagecoach. The four horses breath out clouds of fog and trott softly in place.The pastoral colors of the coach contrast sharply with the grey overcast day. My dad leads the way into the stagecoach, and I follow attentively. The coach driver whips the reins and the horses start trotting forwards.

I look outside and see a spider web form from steel girders where a building would soon be, and behind it stands the great Tower Bridge of London. The engineering marvel shines like a pearl, and the surrounding buildings look malnourished when compared. The water blends together in an endless expanse of dull black, and soon we pass in between older buildings built long ago.

Thirty minutes later we arrive at our destination. The building is a  large mansion inspired by French villas. It’s sharp roof stabs into the sky like an array of brick spears, and green paint covers the building as though it imitates the wood frame that lay underneath. Surrounding foliage berates my field of vision with an array of barren wooden poles and thin yellow grass.

We step out of the carriage and onto the brick walkway that leads to our house. I pass by a fountain that changes into an ice sculpture for the winter, and then the large mahogany doors open revealing a familiar site.

“Daddy, why do you bring me along to these excursions?” I question.

“Well son. You need to learn from the best! I can show you some things about talking to people, and how to run a company right? The earlier you start the better you’ll be. Besides I can’t have you always at home can I,” he asks while rubbing the top of my head.

The familiar motion made me giggle and accept his answer, but I decide on going and playing with the boy across the street to pass the time.

“Daddy, is it okay if I go and play with Lenic?” I ask while jumping up and down pleading for an answer.

“...Sure. Lenic is a bright boy right? Just be back in time for dinner. I’m going to be in my study, and you’re mom is out today with Laura, so just make sure you don’t interrupt daddy while he works, okay,” my dad says while grabbing a hot glass of tea and heading towards his study.

“Okay Daddy.”

I bring myself through the mahogany entrance and start walking through a gentle cascade of white rose petals from heaven’s door.