A Young Man Loses a Job Opportunity for Helping an Elderly Woman… without knowing that SHE WAS the CEO’s Mother…
The October rain in New York wasn’t romantic like in a Woody Allen movie. It was cold, biting, and carried the metallic smell of old subway tracks.
Ethan Hunt, 26, clutched his worn leather briefcase – the only memento his father had left him. Inside were the architectural designs he’d spent three long years perfecting. Today was his interview at Sterling & Co., a leading North American architectural firm. It wasn’t just a job. With $80,000 in student debt and an eviction notice plastered on his Queens apartment door this morning, this was his last lifeline.
His watch showed 8:45 a.m. The interview started at 9:00. He was only five blocks from Sterling Tower.
Ethan quickened his pace on the slippery sidewalk. Suddenly, a screeching screech of brakes rang out, followed by a blaring horn.
At the intersection, amidst the chaotic traffic, an old woman stood frozen. She wore a thin, soaking wet woolen coat, clutching a tattered cloth bag. A yellow taxi had just brushed against her, sending her tumbling into a puddle of dark mud.
The taxi driver poked his head out, cursed a few times, and sped away. The New Yorkers continued onward. They were too busy, or too indifferent.
Ethan stopped.
“You don’t have time, Ethan,” a voice in his head screamed. “If you stop, you’re dead. This suit is the only one you own.”
He looked at his watch: 8:48.
He looked at the old woman. She was trembling, trying to pick up the oranges scattered on the road, muttering something in a panic. A delivery truck was speeding towards them, honking loudly but showing no sign of slowing down.
“Damn it!”
Ethan cast aside his hesitation. He dashed into the street, ignoring the splashes of water that were soaking his pants. He gestured for the truck to stop, then bent down to help the old woman up.
“Grandma! Are you alright?” Ethan shouted, his voice hoarse from the rain.
The old woman looked up at him. Her eyes were cloudy and vacant. “Thomas? Is that you, Thomas? I brought you oranges…”
She was confused. Or had Alzheimer’s.
“I’m not Thomas. Let’s go, it’s dangerous!”
Ethan helped her onto the sidewalk. But suddenly, the old woman recoiled, clutching her chest and gasping for breath. She fell into Ethan’s arms. Mud from her clothes stained his pristine white shirt.
Ethan panicked. He couldn’t leave her there. He quickly called 911.
“Please hurry, corner of 5th and 52nd streets!”
While waiting for the ambulance, Ethan looked at his watch: 8:58.
He gazed despairingly at the towering Sterling Tower two blocks away. He had lost.
By the time the paramedics arrived and took the old woman in, it was 9:15. She clutched Ethan’s hand tightly, thrusting a bruised orange into his.
“Take this, Thomas. Don’t go hungry.”
Ethan swallowed, nodding, “Thank you.”
He stood up. His suit was soaking wet, covered in mud and orange juice. But he ran. He ran like a madman toward the Sterling Tower.
Ethan entered the Sterling Tower lobby looking like a homeless man who had just won the lottery but been robbed. The marble floor reflected his pathetic image.
“I… I have an interview at 9 o’clock,” Ethan gasped, speaking to the beautiful but cold, wax-like receptionist.
The woman looked him up and down, a sneering smirk on her face. “It’s 9:25 now, sir. And… my God, look at yourself. This is the Sterling Corporation, not a rescue station.”
“Please. I had an accident on the way. I helped someone in need. Let me see Mr. Henderson. Just five minutes!”
“Mr. Henderson doesn’t deal with unprofessional people. Please leave, or I’ll call security.”
“No!” Ethan slammed his hand on the table. Despair turned into rage. “I’m Cornell’s top-ranked Architect! Look at my blueprints before you kick me out!”
The commotion drew attention. From the VIP elevator, a group of people emerged. Leading them was a middle-aged man in a Bespoke Italian suit, his face as sharp as a razor. It was Marcus Sterling – the legendary CEO, known as the “King of Skyscrapers.”
But today, Marcus didn’t look like a king. He looked anxious, angry, and was shouting into the phone.
“Find him! Can’t you find an old man in all of New York City? Did I pay your security guards just for show?”
Marcus walked past the reception desk, glancing at the commotion. He stopped.
“What’s going on here?” Marcus’s voice was deep and authoritative.
The receptionist quickly stood up, pointing at Ethan. “Mr. Sterling, this young man is 30 minutes late for his interview, he’s disheveled and causing a disturbance. I’m calling security.”
Marcus narrowed his eyes at Ethan. He looked at the mud on his shirt, at his rain-soaked hair.
“You’re late?” Marcus asked, his voice cold.
“Yes, sir,” Ethan straightened his back, though his legs were trembling. “I had an accident on the way…”
“At Sterling, we don’t accept excuses,” Marcus interrupted. “Time is money. If you can’t manage your time, you can’t manage my billion-dollar projects. Get him out of here.”
Marcus waved his hand and turned his back, continuing to yell into the phone.
Ethan stammered, “My mother didn’t bring her phone! She’s only wearing a thin sweater! If anything happens to her…”
Two burly security guards swooped in, grabbing Ethan’s arms.
“Come on, kid,” one of them growled.
Ethan struggled. He refused to give up. He’d lost everything for an act of kindness. And now, that kindness was being treated like trash.
During the struggle, Ethan’s vest pocket ripped open. The bruised orange the old woman had given him fell onto the marble floor, rolling to Marcus Sterling’s feet.
Marcus froze.
He looked at the orange. An ordinary, bruised orange. But on its peel was a funny smiley face sticker – the kind children play with.
Marcus slowly bent down to pick up the orange. His hands, usually steady when signing billion-dollar deals, were now trembling.
“Stop,” Marcus whispered.
Then he spun around, shouting, “I SAID STOP!”
The bodyguards released Ethan. The hall fell silent.
Marcus strode toward Ethan, grabbing his stained collar. His eyes blazed, but not with anger, but with utter panic.
“Where did you get this?” Marcus thrust the orange in Ethan’s face. “Tell me! What did you do to her?”
Ethan was stunned. “What? I didn’t do anything! The old woman gave it to me!”
“Which old woman? Where?”
“At the corner of 5th Street! She fell! I helped her up and called an ambulance! She’s confused, she kept calling me Thomas and gave me this orange, telling me not to go hungry!”
Marcus released Ethan, stepping back, his face drained of color.
“Thomas…” Marcus whispered, his voice breaking. “That’s my younger brother’s name… He died of starvation at age 10… during a harsh winter before we became wealthy.”
“Mr. Sterling!” An assistant rushed in, phone in hand. “Mount Sinai Hospital just called! They’ve taken in an unidentified elderly woman brought in from the corner of Fifth Street. She’s being warmed up and keeps asking to see ‘the boy in the muddy suit’.”
Marcus snatched the phone, listened for a few seconds, then let it drop.
He looked at Ethan. This time, the “King of Skyscrapers'” gaze was no longer arrogant. It was raw, full of remorse and gratitude.
Marcus’s mother, Eleanor Sterling, suffered from severe Alzheimer’s. This morning, she had escaped from her heavily guarded penthouse, hallucinating that her deceased young son was starving on the streets. She had escaped just to bring “Thomas” an orange.
If Ethan hadn’t stopped. If Ethan had chosen to arrive on time for the interview. Eleanor might have been run over by a truck or frozen to death in the New York rain.
Marcus took a deep breath, adjusting Ethan’s tie—an action that left the receptionist and bodyguards gaping.
“What’s your name?” Marcus asked.
“Ethan… Ethan Hunt.”
“Ethan,” Marcus said, his voice calm again. “You failed the interview for the Architect Trainee position.”
Ethan’s heart tightened. He bowed his head. Of course. Rules are rules.
“But,” Marcus continued, turning to the stunned staff. “You don’t need that position. I just fired the Head of Creative Design because he was too insensitive to designs for people with disabilities.”
Marcus placed his hand on Ethan’s shoulder.
“A good architect is someone who knows how to design beautiful buildings. But a great architect is someone who knows how to see the people inside those concrete blocks. You saw my mother when the whole world ignored her.”
“You’re hired. Not as an intern. You’ll be my personal Design Assistant on the Sterling Nursing Home project we’re about to start. Starting salary $150,000.”
Ethan stood speechless. Everything was happening so fast.
“Let’s go,” Marcus patted his shoulder. “My car’s waiting outside. We’re going to the hospital. My mother wants to see her ‘Thomas’. And then… I’ll buy you a new suit.”
Ethan followed Marcus out of the building. The rain outside hadn’t stopped, but the air wasn’t cold anymore.
In his torn jacket pocket, the scent of oranges still lingered. It wasn’t the smell of failure. It was the scent of humanity, the only thing more valuable than pure gold in the heart of glamorous New York.
