CHAPTER: ONE

Ah, yes. This is what made the daily grind worth it. There was a broad smile on the face of Henry Emily as he looked around the restaurant that he had built through blood, toil, sweat and tears. Definitely less of the first, but that was not to say that on some days he felt like the red patterns on the tablecloths were as a direct result of him bleeding on it.

What made everything worth it, however, were the smiles on the faces of parents and children alike, both enamored and overjoyed by the magical world that Henry had created here. The polite and happy 'thank you' with which they always greeted their meals. The amazed grins that emerged on even the grumpiest child and gloomiest adult when they saw the yellow rabbit or the yellow bear come skipping around the tables to say hello, or when the duo stood on stage and sang quirky kid songs for an hour.

They look so real.

That's what people always said. And it always made pride swell in Henry's chest. Because he built them. He poured his heart and soul into them, just like his friend and co-owner had. He'd been there from the start, since they were both idealistic youths in university, and through the years of work and experimentation afterwards. And here he came now.

The first thing that Henry noticed about the other owner of this diner was the strained and perturbed expression he was wearing as he slid into the chair on the other side of this booth.

"What's on your mind?" Henry asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Nothing," William Afton replied, too quickly.

"I know that look. There's definitely something up."

William sighed, a great big huff of breath, as he watched the happy families in the diner. "Evan's birthday is coming up."

"Oh, yeah. Nine days?"

"Yeah. Nine days. And I'm still not sure where to have his party." He swiveled in the booth until he was facing Henry. "I mean, you know how frightened he is of the animatronics."

Henry nodded soberly.

"But he also adores the characters themselves. It seems so contradictory, and yet . . .," William sighed again. "And Michael's so brutal to him, no matter how much I try to get him to stop."

"Mike is in that surly teen phase," Henry remarked.

"Sometimes I feel like the only kid I partially understand is Liza."

"You know what I think?" Henry said, reaching across the table and tapping his friend on the shoulder. "I think, that after Evan's birthday, you should take the whole family on a holiday. Take a week of vacation. I can manage for that long by myself. Spend a lot of time with all your kids. Especially Evan and Michael. They love you, and each other. It's just buried beneath their own insecurities. You just need to coax it out."

William listened to the monologue thoughtfully. Then he grinned. "Who are you, who are so wise in the ways of children?"

Henry chuckled. "I may know a few things, but I'm far from an expert."

"No, seriously. Charlie's only as old as Evan is, and she's already better behaved than Michael. You make it look so effortless."

"Just take my word for it. And please take that holiday. You work hard enough already."

The smile on William's face dropped off into a frown as he spotted something past Henry's head. "Look who it is."

Henry looked over his shoulder and suppressed a sigh of disgust. He had hoped to be able to go the entire day without encountering something to spoil his mood. Alas, here it was, in the flesh.

Two young men were approaching them. The first was clean shaven with slender features and an Ivy League haircut, wearing dark casual clothes with a diner employee name-tag pinned to his shirtfront. It had a simple greeting, identified the wearer as a member of staff and had a place for their name, which the man had filled in with neat lettering.

"Matt," Henry nodded in greeting as the employee walked up to them, before turning to scrutinize the second man. This one was dressed in a blue suit, had sandy hair hanging down his forehead, and carried himself with a confidence and swagger that turned Henry's stomach off.

"Mr Emily, Mr Afton, this is Mr Finlay Cromwell," Matt announced. "Son of Mr–"

"Mr Abram Cromwell," Henry finished with a scowl. For the past two years, the elder Mr Cromwell – the richest man in Hurricane, Utah – had been pushing them relentlessly for the purchase of the rights to the diner so that he could expand it into a franchise, a proper company, and across other locations for more restaurants. It had been a difficult struggle, but Henry and William had so far been successful in their tooth and nail fight to prevent the takeover.

"Now," grunted William. If Henry had cultivated a dislike for the Cromwells, then William despised them. "What brings you here, Cromwell Junior?"

"It's nice to see you too, Afton," Finlay Cromwell replied smugly. "My father has a new proposal for you two. Instead of buying the rights to the entire diner, he wants to start producing a new season for the television series."

The television series, that the arrogant young man was referring to, were a couple of animated episodes written by Henry and William and animated by the former's cousin that aired on the television, and proved so popular that it was still being rerun. It was really just to get kids interested in the diner, although there were a lot more characters in the series than the two that were depicted in glorious fashion at the diner. They tried to account for this by selling plushies of the other characters for the kids, although seeing the disappointed children who couldn't interact with their favorite characters was one of the biggest sources of heartache for Henry. It was his dream to someday have the entire ensemble on display. Alas, there was never enough funding, at least without the backing of a magnate who would undoubtedly commercialize the diner to the point of making it unrecognizable.

Henry gestured for the millionaire inheritor to continue.

"You will still have full control over the franchise, but you will get no payment for our use of your characters. The income of revenue from the increased popularity should be more than enough compensation."

Henry crossed his arms and suppressed a roll of his eyes, but before he could answer, William had opened his mouth.

"This sounds like all the other horrible ideas your father has come up with," he grumbled. "And our answer's the same as before: N–O. NO."

Finlay Cromwell lifted his shoulders in a shrug, then turned towards Henry. "Surely you can see the value in this investment, Mr Emily."

Henry just smiled and shook his head pityingly. "Matt, please show our esteemed guest out."

"Yes, Mr Emily, sir," Matt said, grinning at the sarcastic lilt added to 'esteemed guest'. "Right this way, Mr Cromwell."

Finlay Cromwell looked like he was choking on something, spluttering. His cheeks turning red like those of a hyperactive toddler. His finger pointed accusingly at both of them, as if he was the victim here. As Matt gestured in the direction of the door, Finlay declared, "My father is not a man you defy. You'll regret this, both of you."

"I'm sure," William said, rolling his eyes as the wealthy young man was shown out. "Well, that's that. For now. But one of his lackeys will be back, sooner or later. The old bastard's becoming more and more insistent."

"Well, hopefully he'll leave us alone until after you get back from holiday."

William lifted both of his eyebrows. "Are you really sure I should? Take a vacation, I mean."

"Of course. At the rate you're going, without a holiday, you'll look like an eighty-year-old next month."

"Har, har," William replied as they stood up and Henry gave him a joking punch on the shoulder. "But what about you?" he asked on the walk towards the offices at the rear of the diner. "You work just as hard as I do and deserve a holiday just as much as I do. Sometimes I wonder if you're all that's keeping this place together. Aside from duct tape and spit."

Henry laughed. "Nah, I'm fine. Don't need a holiday. Remember, I've only got one kid, and she's not causing mayhem."

"Yeah . . . huh."

There was something subdued about William's voice now. Henry thought about it for a moment before shaking it off. His friend was just exhausted; nothing more.

"Mr Emily! Mr Afton!" Matt was hastening over towards them. "A kid's thrown up in the arcade."

"Dammit," William growled.

"How bad is it?" Henry asked.

"He missed the machines, but there's a lot to clean up off the floor."

William sighed, before turning to Henry. "I deal with the kid. You go and do . . . whatever it was we were getting up to do."

"Paperwork, I guess? Are you sure you don't want me to handle this?"

"No, no. I'll be fine. Get to stacking those papers, Henry."

Henry watched his co-owner and his employee go marching off to the games arcade on the other side of the diner. It was really just another average day in this job. So why did he get the sensation that it was the end of an era?

What William had said was true: the Cromwells were getting more and more insistent, pushing harder and harder. And Henry found he was running out of energy to fight this draining battle. Sometimes the writing was on the wall, as much as he'd like to say otherwise. Sooner or later, Mr Cromwell would get the upper hand on them, find their pressure points, and then exploit them ruthlessly.

And then where would they be? Cast out from their own creation, left behind in the dust, with no steady way for Henry to support Charlie or for William to do the same with his family. How many others would be laid off from their jobs? Kids like Matt, kicked out of employment by a ruthless robber baron, simply because of their ties to the old franchise and owners.

At least if they yielded, they might be able to lessen the impact; maybe negotiate a better deal. So far, they'd merely refused Cromwell's offers. But if they dictated terms, perhaps they could retain their positions and most of their control.

But to compromise would be to give in to the reality that small successful business in America would inevitably be commercialized. All this musing and these thoughts felt to Henry like they were poisoning his soul. He shivered as he stepped into the backrooms of the diner.

"Daddy?"

He released a sigh of relief when he saw the blond-haired, green-eyed child that was his daughter Charlie. Bending down, he lifted her up into a hug.

"You look sad, Daddy," Charlie commented, eyes blinking deeply.

Henry gave her a half smile. "I'm not really sad, dear. Just worried."

"About what?"

"Well, there's William. He's really stressed out."

"Uncle William?" she asked for clarification.

He nodded. "He's having trouble with his kids."

"With Evan? But Evan's such a good boy. Just very sad. I try to make him feel better, but his brother's always not nice to him."

"Uncle William is trying to get them to get along with each other, but it's not working. He feels guilty about it. You know what feeling guilty means, right?"

"It means you've done something wrong, and you feel bad?"

"Correct. It's also possible to feel guilty when you aren't directly responsible for what happened. If that makes sense."

Charlie frowned, creasing her forehead. "Kinda. Not really. Why should you feel guilty for something you didn't do?"

"It's a little complicated," Henry noted. "It could be that you saw the bad thing happening and did nothing to try and stop it. Or maybe there was nothing at all you could do to stop the bad thing, but you still felt that there was something you could have done to stop it." He smiled sadly at the unsure look on her face. "I've lost you, haven't I?"

"Not really, Daddy. I just don't understand why."

"I don't know if a person can understand until they've experienced it for themselves. And I hope you never do," he smiled properly now, giving her a gentle and loving tap on the nose.