Chapter 9 - The Boy in the GardenAs they sat in the greenhouse, an elderly gardener wearing faded overalls approached, holding a small terracotta pot with a bright yellow marigold.
"Excuse me, ma'am," the old man said with a warm, weathered smile. "I saw what happened on the news. My granddaughter works catering at Rosewood Manor. She told me you personally ensured all forty-two servers received their tips and bonuses yesterday morning when the hosts refused to pay."
Claire nodded politely. "They worked hard. They deserved their compensation."
The gardener handed the potted marigold to Toby. "This is for you, young man. It’s called an African Marigold. No matter how harsh the frost gets, if you keep its roots grounded, it always blooms brighter the next spring."
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Toby’s eyes lit up. He took the pot with both hands as if it were solid gold. "Thank you, sir!"
Claire watched her son’s smile return, realizing that dignity was not something purchased at auctions—it was cultivated in small, honest moments.
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