"Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Why did you build hotels?"
Marcus glanced at him.
"That's a big question."
Daniel smiled awkwardly.
"Sorry."
"No. It's a good question."
Marcus considered his answer.
"When I was young, I worked in a small hotel where the owner treated employees like they were disposable."
Daniel listened.
"He would yell at housekeepers in front of guests. He refused to repair broken equipment. And he believed that customers with money deserved better service than everyone else."
Marcus shook his head.
"I hated it."
"So you decided to do things differently?"
"Eventually."
Daniel looked out the window.
"Did you always know you'd become successful?"
Marcus laughed.
"Absolutely not."
"Really?"
"There were years when I wasn't sure I'd be able to pay my rent."
Daniel looked surprised.
Marcus continued.
"Success usually looks simple when people only see the finished result."
He paused.
"They don't see the failures. The sleepless nights. The people who stop believing in you."
Daniel nodded.
"My mother says something like that."
"What's she say?"
"She says people admire the harvest but forget how long the farmer worked in the dirt."
Marcus smiled.
"Your mother sounds wise."
"She is."
"Then listen to her."
Daniel laughed softly.
They turned onto a narrow street lined with old maple trees.
Marcus slowed the car.
"Tell me about your family."
Daniel looked surprised.
"My family?"
"Yes."
"Well, my mom lives about two hours away. My dad passed away when I was fourteen."
"I'm sorry."
"Thank you."
Daniel looked down at his hands.
"My mom worked two jobs to keep us going."
Marcus nodded.
"I know what that's like."
Daniel continued.
"I went to community college for a while, but I had to stop when she got sick."
"Is she better now?"
"Mostly."
"Do you want to go back to school?"
Daniel hesitated.
"Maybe."
"What would you study?"
"Hospitality management."
Marcus smiled.
"Interesting choice."
Daniel laughed.
"I guess I haven't given up on hotels yet."
"Good."
Marcus looked toward him.
"Don't let one bad supervisor convince you that an entire profession is broken."
Daniel nodded.
"I won't."
A few minutes later, they arrived at a small white house with blue shutters and a neatly maintained front garden.
A wooden bench stood beneath the porch window.
Several potted chrysanthemums lined the steps.
Marcus parked along the curb.
"This is it."
Daniel looked toward the house.
"Are you sure she wants visitors?"
Marcus considered the question.
"No."
He looked at the folded letter in his hand.
"But I think she deserves an answer."
They walked up the path.
Marcus rang the doorbell.
After a moment, footsteps approached.
The door opened.
An elderly woman stood before them.
She was small and slightly stooped, with soft gray hair and kind brown eyes.
She wore a pale cardigan over a simple floral dress.
"Yes?"
Marcus smiled gently.
"Mrs. Ellis?"
"That's me."
"My name is Marcus Thompson."
She looked at him.
For a moment, she appeared uncertain.
Then her eyes widened.
"Thompson?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"From the hotel?"
Marcus nodded.
"Yes."
Margaret placed one hand against her chest.
"Oh, my goodness."
She looked toward Daniel.
Then back at Marcus.
"Did you get my letter?"
"I did."
Her eyes filled with tears.
"I never thought anyone would read it."
Marcus felt a familiar ache in his chest.
"I read every word."
Margaret covered her mouth.
For several seconds, she could not speak.
Then she stepped aside.
"Please. Come in."
The house was modest but warm.
Family photographs covered the walls.
A grandfather clock ticked softly in the hallway.
The living room smelled faintly of cinnamon and fresh coffee.
Marcus noticed a framed photograph on the mantel.
It showed a smiling man with silver hair standing beside Margaret in a garden.
"Is that Samuel?"
Margaret turned.
"Yes."
She smiled sadly.
"That's my husband."
Marcus approached the photograph.
"He looks like a kind man."
"He was."
Her voice softened.
"The kindest man I ever knew."
She invited them to sit.
Daniel took a chair near the window.
Marcus sat on the sofa across from Margaret.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Marcus leaned forward.
"Mrs. Ellis, I came here because I owe you an apology."
Margaret shook her head.
"Oh, you don't have to—"
"Please."
She stopped.
Marcus continued.
"What happened to you at the Grand Wellington was wrong."
Margaret looked down.