Aron stepped inside the hall, scanning the room until his eyes landed on the two people he needed to speak with. But just as he began to move toward them, he hesitated.
The look on the young master's face... it reminded me of the one he wore at the Stern family party that night, Aron thought. No… this time, it was worse. Much worse.
His feet rooted in place, he questioned himself. Should I go after him? Be there with him, right now?
Before he could decide, both of Sam's parents noticed the sharply dressed young man standing near the entrance. He stood with perfect posture, his tailored black suit catching the light in a way that made it seem to shimmer, even among the sea of dark mourning clothes.
"Excuse me," Sam's father said gently as he approached. "Are you… the one? A boy told us someone might come speak with us, after the service."
The words pulled Aron from his spiraling thoughts. He straightened up and offered a polite, practiced smile.
This is the first time the young master has entrusted me with something truly important. I won't let him down.
He gave them a respectful bow. "That's correct. I believe this conversation would be best… if the three of us sat down."
Following Aron's lead, Sam's parents were guided to one of the empty tables at the back of the hall. The food had already been cleared away, leaving the space clean and quiet. Aron sat on one side, while Sam's mother and father took their seats opposite him, still carrying the weight of the day in their expressions.
"What's your relationship with that young boy?" Sam's mother asked, her voice cautious but curious.
"Max?" Aron replied calmly. "The two of us share a close relationship. But what I'm here for today… it's separate from that." He folded his hands neatly on the table. "I imagine you're both wondering why I've come, especially on such a difficult day."
There was something in Aron's tone, gentle, measured, that soothed them in a way neither expected. Despite the emotional storm they were in, his presence felt oddly grounding.
"You're right," Sam's father said, glancing at his wife. "The boy, Max… he told us to listen to you. Said you had something important to say. He seemed like a good kid."
"He is," Aron said with a soft smile. "And maybe that's why I'm here now. You see, I heard about what happened a few days ago, your restaurant losing its license. I understand you're in the process of selling the equipment… maybe even the business itself. Is that right?"
"Correct," Sam's mother replied with a quiet nod. "But… with everything that's happened, we honestly haven't had the time to sort anything out."
Even just speaking about it brought a heavy ache to their hearts. Without the business, how were they supposed to make a living? It was the kind of worry that gnawed at you late at night, never letting go.
But now, with the loss of their son, they both felt like they would've gone into any amount of debt just to bring him back. They would've gladly shut the restaurant down a hundred times over if it meant seeing his face again.
And as those thoughts twisted painfully inside them, Sam's father suddenly remembered the last words he'd spoken to his son.
"The news I have for you," Aron began gently, "won't heal your wounds… but it might help ease some of the weight."
He reached into his bag and pulled out a single sheet of paper, sliding it across the table toward them.
"Your restaurant license, the one that had been revoked, it's been reinstated. Your business no longer has to shut down," Aron said, watching their stunned expressions. "And there's more."
He revealed a few more documents, neatly stacked, and placed them on the table.
"This here is an offer. A proposal to purchase one percent of your business."
"One percent…?" Sam's father echoed, caught off guard.
It wasn't the kind of moment where someone wanted to read legal documents, but the situation felt so strange, so unexpected, that he found himself picking it up anyway, scanning the words with wide eyes.
Immediately, one number leapt off the page like a flashing red light.
"Is this some kind of sick joke?!" Sam's father suddenly snapped, his voice rising as he stood to his feet. "On a day like this, you choose now to play games with us?"
"I assure you," Aron said calmly, unfazed by the outburst, "this is no joke. The funds would be deposited immediately, the moment you sign that contract."
Sam's mother, startled by her husband's reaction, reached over and gently pulled the contract toward her. Her eyes skimmed over the print… and then she saw it.
"One… two… three… four… six zeroes…" she whispered. "This can't be right."
Her hands trembled slightly as she looked up. "You're offering… one million dollars? For just one percent of our business?"
"It makes no sense," Sam's father added, still in disbelief. "This has to be some kind of scam. Who would do something like this?"
"You're free to have any lawyer review the contract," Aron replied evenly. "Any costs involved, we'll cover them. We just want you to feel safe. No tricks. No fine print."
The room fell into a stunned silence. Even with the chaos of their grief, the absurdity of the offer was impossible to ignore.
"But… why?" Sam's father finally asked, his voice quieter this time, almost a whisper. "Why would anyone do this? There has to be a reason. There's no such thing as a free lunch in this world."
Aron slowly rose from his seat. The conversation had run its course, he'd said what needed to be said. Any more and they'd probably start doubting him again, chalking it all up to some too-good-to-be-true scam.
"You're not wrong," Aron said gently. "There's always a reason behind actions like this. But the truth is, this isn't about either of you."
Both of Sam's parents looked up, confused.
"This is being done… because of Sam."
"Because of Sam?" his mother repeated, barely above a whisper.
"I can't say too much," Aron continued. "But the person responsible for all of this, the offer, the help, he wishes he could've done something sooner. He regrets not being there when Sam needed someone most."
His words hung in the air like a heavy mist.
"So now," Aron went on, his tone soft but firm, "he's doing what he can. To make sure Sam's family is protected. To do right by him. Because your son… was a good person. And if he hadn't been, none of this would be happening."
The explanation only deepened the ache in their hearts, pressing on the wounds that had barely begun to scab over. Aron reached into his jacket, pulled out a business card, and set it gently on the table.
"If you ever need anything, anything at all, please call me. We'll handle the rest."
With that, he turned to leave, but before he could step away—
"Wait!" Sam's father called out.
Aron turned around, catching sight of Sam's father as he wiped the tears from his eyes.
"The person… who did all this? Was it that boy we met earlier?" he asked, voice trembling.
Beside him, Sam's mother looked confused. The boy who had come to pay his respects, the classmate, they were just kids, both going to the same public school. It didn't make sense. How could it be him?
But Sam's father couldn't shake the feeling in his chest. A quiet certainty. After all, this whole meeting, all of it, had only happened because that boy had asked them to listen.
Aron held his gaze for a moment, then offered a soft, knowing smile.
"I'll allow you both to believe… whatever you wish to believe," he replied, turning back toward the door.
"Tell him—" Sam's father called out, his voice cracking. "Tell him we said thank you… and that it's not his fault. It was ours."
Aron paused for just a second, the weight of the words settling on him. Then he stepped forward, out into the hall, his mind already racing.
Max… just what are you planning? Why go through all this?