Chapter 17: Farm Profits

Late afternoon light filtered through the large windows of Marcus’s upstairs office in the Thompson farmhouse, casting a warm golden glow over the polished oak desk and the neat stacks of tablets and holographic displays. The room smelled of aged wood, fresh coffee, and the faint, comforting scent of the orchards drifting in through the cracked window. Outside, winter sunlight bathed the thriving fields and decorated sensor posts, a visible testament to months of quiet transformation.

Marcus sat in his favorite leather chair, looking frailer than he had in years but still carrying the quiet dignity that defined him. His hands rested on the desk, a slight tremor visible as he watched his son.

Ethan stood beside him, tall and powerfully built in a simple worn work shirt and low-slung jeans, his messy black hair still dusted with a bit of field soil. At seventeen, he had the presence of someone far older—broad shoulders squared with quiet confidence, green eyes steady and focused. He placed a sleek tablet in front of his father and activated the holographic financial interface with a few practiced gestures.