Shimmering white crystals danced through the frigid morning air, frosting the banks of a winding river and cresting stark, spindly tree branches thrust upward like outstretched arms. Danny peered through a dirty, icy window at the torrent of snow billowing outside his crumbling house, collecting upon the earth in knee-high drifts. Overnight, snow had enveloped the world, swallowing up his little home and coating the streets with ice. Despite the weather, Danny was determined to get out and talk to Mr. Anderson.
Pulling on his warmest winter coat and winding a scarf about his face, Danny stepped out into the storm, calling goodbye to his mother, who lay on a threadbare couch in an alcoholic slumber, before he left. Danny didn’t even bother trying to start his car. The thing barely ran in the summer when the streets were undoubtedly clear, nevermind in this mess.
Daniel marched resolutely along the street, shuffling through windswept snow banks until he emerged into the bustling but quaint town of Charlesville, blanketed with white and nearly devoid of human activity on this particularly dreary morning. Ostentatiously in the center of the town, aglow with Christmas lights and a flashing sign that read “Anderson, Inc.,” was the out-of-placely tall and ornate headquarters of the business founded by the man Daniel was looking for. Mr. Anderson’s enormous and sleek hummer was parked to the side of the building, looking virtually untouched by the snow.
Daniel pushed through the impeccably clear front glass door and padded down the plush-carpeted hallway that sprawled before him, reaching the first door on the first floor, adorned with a brass nameplate that said “John Anderson, Founder & CEO.” Daniel rapped firmly on the door and was almost immediately answered with a gruff “Come in.”
Daniel entered the extensive office, decorated with contemporary art and ornamented with several floor to ceiling windows, edged with snow. Mr. Anderson sat at a gleaming mahogany desk, cluttered with papers bursting from a plethora of briefcases over which he poured. He looked up at Daniel through reading glasses perched at the tip of his nose and scratched his thick mustache thoughtfully. He took off his glasses and gesticulated to a chair in front his desk.
“Mr. Polan,” he said, chewing absently at one end of his glasses, “Although your design is very interesting, it’s not exactly what I’m looking for.”
Simple as that. The logo that Danny had designed for Anderson, Inc. wasn’t good enough. “Alright, Sir,” Daniel said, trying the mask his heartbrokenness. “Thank you.”
* * *
The summer sun blazed down upon Anderson, Inc. In the heat, Danny could almost believe that he was simply imagining what he was seeing; an oddly familiar logo gracing the roof of the Anderson, Inc. building, luminous beneath shafts of afternoon sun. That symbol seemed so oddly reminiscent because he had designed it himself last winter.
* * *
The only good thing about losing the case against Mr. Anderson was that it brought Daniel to Zoey. After seeing his unaccredited and unpaid-for logo standing triumphantly atop the Anderson, Inc. building, Daniel angrily called Mr. Anderson to court to receive payment and tribute for his design. The businessman, however, was able to use authority and bribery, as well as an expensive lawyer far superior to Daniel’s, to win the case. As Mr. Anderson stomped triumphantly out of the courtroom past a very discouraged Daniel, the boy saw the businessman’s daughter as she followed obediently in her father’s wake. She was absolutely beautiful; her soft, pale face was framed with feathery brown hair, her docile eyes stared sympathetically at Daniel. As she walked by, she flashed him an apologetic smile, realizing her father was in the wrong.
And that smile made losing the case almost worthwhile.
