When the train Allen was on slowly pulled into Grand Central Station in New York, Catherine and Miller were there to greet him.
It was deep autumn now, though it had been the height of summer when he left New York.
There was a hint of northern chill in the wind.
"Sir, welcome home."
Catherine's face held a genuine, relaxed smile.
She had been under immense pressure during Allen's absence.
Now, the man who could support her had finally returned.
"I'm back, Catherine."
Allen looked at the assistant he had personally recruited, noticing she was a little thinner than before, but her blue eyes were brighter and more confident than ever.
"Is the company doing well?"
"Of course, everything is better than ever."
Catherine's reply was full of pride.
"The last batch of goods for the first military contract was delivered on time last week. Lieutenant Carter sent a letter of thanks. Mr. Tilford's 'Gold Label' series has sold out three times. And our bank account holds a sum of cash large enough to command the respect of any banker."
"You've worked hard."
Allen's words were simple, but carried significant weight.
On the way back to the factory, Allen looked out the window at the familiar yet somewhat strange streetscape of New York.
For the first time, he felt a true sense of coming home.
When the carriage pulled into the massive, now twenty-four-hour-lit factory he had personally established, all the working laborers spontaneously stopped their tasks and doffed their hats in respect to their young boss.
Allen didn't give a speech, simply doffing his hat in return.
That night, the lights in the factory office burned late into the night.
Allen needed to hear a detailed report on all company operations during his absence.
And Catherine was the only one who could clearly present all the operational data of this machine to him.
...So, according to my calculations."
Catherine closed the last ledger, her voice a little hoarse from speaking for so long.
"After successfully opening up the entire New York market and completing the first military contract, the company's current monthly net profit has stabilized at over twelve thousand dollars. Our production capacity is also sufficient to support us in pursuing a larger contract."
"I must say, you've done a hundred times better than I expected, Catherine."
Allen praised her sincerely.
He looked at the young and beautiful assistant, who was currently organizing documents by the light of a kerosene lamp.
Compared to just over a month ago, she had completely shed her youthful inexperience.
In its place was a unique aura of strategic planning, typical of a successful businesswoman.
"I was merely executing your plan, sir."
Allen didn't fully agree with that statement.
"There's no need to underestimate yourself, Catherine. A plan is just a plan. You know that even the best plan needs people to implement it and to react flexibly to specific situations. You did an excellent job of that, successfully persuading Hudson to make the wire transfer, which saved me from having to borrow more money from the bank."
This praise made Catherine's cheeks flush slightly. She lowered her head and responded softly.
"Thank you, sir."
Allen looked at her and suddenly noticed the faint shadows under her eyes.
"Catherine."
His voice involuntarily softened a little.
"Have you not had a good rest this whole time?"
"I'm fine, sir." Catherine rubbed her eyes.
"There was just so much to do. I was always worried I would make a mistake and let down your trust."
"You've done more than enough. Starting tomorrow, take some time off. At least two days of rest."
"But, the company..."
"Listen to me."
Seeing Allen's serious gaze, Catherine could only nod in agreement.
"That's right, don't just work all the time."
Standing up contentedly, Allen took out a bottle of his treasured French brandy and two clean glass cups from a small cabinet nearby.
"Now, work time is over."
He poured a little less than half a glass for each of them, handing one to Catherine.
"Let's talk about something unrelated to business."
Catherine took the glass, a little surprised.
"Talk about what?"
"Let's talk about you."
Allen leaned against the desk, holding his glass and looking at her.
"It's been so long, and we haven't properly talked. Before you met me, before you were a bookkeeper at Mr. Gable's grocery store, did you ever dream of what kind of person you would become in the future?"
This question made Catherine freeze.
She lowered her head, looking at the amber liquid in her glass, and fell into a long silence.
"I don't know, sir."
"My only dream before was to earn enough money to cure my father's illness. After my father passed away, I thought I might save enough money to open a small bookstore of my own."
"A bookstore?"
"Yes."
Her eyes brightened a bit when she mentioned books.
"I love to read. I love to understand a wider world I've never seen through those words. I once thought that was my greatest pursuit in this life."
She looked up at Allen, her blue eyes full of sincerity.
"But now, I realize I was wrong."
"Oh?"
"Because you, Mr. Allen, you showed me with my own eyes a world more exciting and grand than any story in a book. A world that can be created and changed with one's own hands."
She raised her glass to Allen.
"So I should thank you. You made me find a more interesting life than opening a bookstore. To you!"
Allen looked at her and also raised his glass.
"Then, to this more interesting life of ours, cheers."
"Cheers."
The two gently clinked their glasses. The crisp sound echoed in the quiet office.
Time quietly slipped away during their somewhat aimless chat.
They talked about their shared homeland, Ireland, about the operas recently playing in New York, and even about astronomy.
Allen was surprised to discover that Catherine's knowledge was far more extensive than he had imagined.
And Catherine was equally surprised by her boss's seemingly omniscient and visionary mind.
For a moment, a subtle emotion, transcending their superior-subordinate relationship and their partnership, quietly grew, catalyzed by the alcohol and the late hour.
When the wall clock struck midnight, Catherine realized how late it was.
"Sir, I... I should go back."
She stood up, her body swaying slightly from sitting too long.
Allen instinctively reached out and steadied her arm, pulling her into his embrace.
His chest was warm and strong.
Catherine's arm was slender and soft.
The moment their skin touched, the air seemed to freeze.
Catherine could clearly feel her heart skip a beat.
Like a startled fawn, she quickly pulled away from Allen's chest, her cheeks instantly reddening like the evening sky.
"I'm... I'm sorry, sir. I... I might be a little tired."
She stammered.
"I should be the one apologizing, Catherine, for keeping you chatting for so long."
Allen's hand also retracted somewhat awkwardly.
"I'll see you back."
"No, there's no need!"
Catherine's expression was slightly nervous as she quickly refused.
"Miller has already arranged for a carriage. I... I'll take my leave now."
She practically fled the office.
Just as she reached the door, she stopped, turned back, and in a complex tone she herself couldn't understand, softly said,
"Good night, Mr. Allen."
With that, without waiting for Allen's reply, she disappeared down the corridor.
In the office, only Allen remained.
He looked at the seat Catherine had just occupied, at the half-finished glass of brandy, and remained silent for a long time.
It seemed that between him and his most capable female assistant, under the influence of alcohol and their accumulated time together, some things had begun to change.
He had always thought of himself as a lonely outsider in this era, existing only to build a business empire.
But now, he found that he seemed to have begun to have a glimmer of warmth, a light called "home."