The late afternoon sun dipped below the horizon of Riverside Park, casting a final, soft gold across the winding paths. Autumn had arrived in earnest; leaves of amber and crimson drifted down with every gust of the cool October wind. The rhythmic thud of joggers’ feet faded, and the laughter of children near the fountain grew distant as dusk settled in. On a bench facing the river, Daniel Carter sat hunched inside a frayed gray jacket, its broken zipper pulled as high as it would go. It offered little defense against the encroaching chill.

The soles of his shoes were peeling away from the worn leather, and an insistent growl from his stomach made him press a hand against the emptiness, a futile attempt to quiet the ache. He kept his gaze fixed downward, tracing the intricate network of cracks in the pavement. For months, the park had been his sanctuary—a place of anonymity where no one asked questions. To the world, he was just another shadow, a young man who had fallen through the societal cracks, invisible.

A flash of brown on an adjacent bench snagged his attention. He initially dismissed it as a discarded paper bag, but a breeze lifted a corner, revealing the glint of leather in the fading light. Daniel leaned forward, his movements slow and deliberate. It was a wallet. He scanned his surroundings. The joggers had vanished. The children had been led away by their parents. The park was emptying. No one seemed to be looking for anything.

His hand reached out, cautious, as if approaching something that might vanish at his touch. The moment his fingers closed around the leather, he felt its substantial weight. He opened it. Inside, credit cards were stacked neatly beside a thick fold of bills. His breath hitched. He counted the cash once, then again, his hands trembling. It was over a thousand dollars, more money than he’d held in years.

His throat felt tight, and the hunger in his stomach twisted into a sharp, almost cruel pang. He imagined the corner store just down the street, picturing the steam that rose from hot food, the aroma that spilled onto the sidewalk each time the door opened. Daniel snapped the wallet shut, his palms slick with sweat. He stared at the ground, his mind a whirlwind of possibilities. It would be so simple. He could just get up and walk away. Lord knew he needed the money more than anyone. It meant a motel room, a hot shower, a proper meal. It could even make a dent in the mountain of medical debt that had swallowed him whole after his mother’s death.

But then, her face materialized in his mind—his mother’s tired, gentle smile. He could hear her voice, a steady comfort from a life that felt a lifetime ago. No matter how bad things get, Dany, you do the right thing. That’s all a man can truly own. He swallowed, the lump in his throat hard and unyielding. His breathing was shallow, uneven. Slowly, deliberately, Daniel rose to his feet. He scanned the park again, this time searching for a face etched with panic or loss.

Near the main path, an older man was pacing, his hands anxiously patting the pockets of his coat. His movements were agitated, his posture rigid with age yet still dignified. Daniel walked toward him. “Excuse me, sir,” he said, his voice raspy from disuse as he held out the wallet. “Does this belong to you?”

The older man spun around, his eyes sharp and instantly suspicious. “Where did you find that?” His tone was laced with accusation, not relief.

“On the bench back there,” Daniel said, nodding toward the seat. “Figured you might have dropped it.”

The man snatched the wallet, his fingers moving with practiced speed as he opened it. He riffled through the bills, checked the cards, his jaw set in a tight line. When he looked up again, his gaze was a narrow, scrutinizing glare. Daniel didn’t flinch. He just stood there, his hands now empty at his sides. A faint, tired smile touched his lips. “You should be careful with it,” he said.

Without another word, and without waiting for a response, Daniel turned and walked away. His stride was even, almost nonchalant, but a profound heaviness settled in his chest. He didn’t want to linger for the suspicion or judgment he felt was sure to follow. The man he left behind clutched the wallet to his chest, his brow furrowed as he watched Daniel’s retreating form disappear down the path. He had braced himself for a trick, a demand, a plea. But the young man was simply gone, melting into the sparse crowd near the park gates.

Richard Thompson stood motionless, the autumn wind tugging at the lapels of his expensive coat. He’d lost things before—possessions, business deals, vast sums of money—but this small, quiet moment unnerved him in a way he couldn’t articulate. His eyes remained fixed on the spot where Daniel had vanished, a strange disquiet gnawing at the edges of his composure.

As the park fell into a deeper silence, Richard finally secured the wallet inside his jacket. He shook his head, a single, muttered question escaping his lips, addressed to no one. “Why would anyone…?” His voice trailed off into the empty air. As he turned to leave, the distant sound of children’s laughter returned, a sharp, clear note against the profound silence he now carried with him.

Richard Thompson departed the park with his wallet tucked safely inside his coat, but the expected sense of relief never came. Every bill was accounted for. The credit cards were undisturbed. Nothing had been stolen. Yet, as he walked toward the town car idling at the curb, a persistent unease trailed him like a second shadow.

Inside the vehicle, he sat wrapped in silence. His driver caught his eye in the rearview mirror but knew better than to speak. Richard placed the wallet on his knee and opened it again, methodically counting the bills, though he knew precisely what he would find. His hands moved with the same practiced efficiency he used to dissect contracts or scrutinize balance sheets.

When he was done, he stared at the stack of cash before snapping the wallet shut with a sharp, definitive click. Leaning back against the plush leather, he clenched his jaw. The young man’s face replayed in his mind: the hollowed cheeks, the dark eyes that held a peculiar light, an ember of something not yet extinguished. Richard couldn’t shake the image of him walking away without a hint of expectation. There had been no plea for a reward, no angle, no cleverly disguised scam—just a simple return and a quiet admonition to be more careful.

Richard had built a life surrounded by people who wanted something from him. Employees who beamed in his presence, investors who lauded his foresight, so-called friends who vanished the instant he wasn’t footing the bill for dinner. Since the accident that had claimed his wife and daughter, his world had constricted, becoming smaller and more airless. His immense wealth had only served to erect higher walls around him. Trust had become a currency he’d long since stopped dealing in. So why had this stranger, this ghost in the park, done the very thing that defied all of his experience?

That night, Richard sat alone in the sterile expanse of his penthouse apartment. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city lights glittered like a sea of distant, cold stars. He poured himself a whiskey, listening to the clink of ice against glass, and switched on the television. The noise did little to fill the cavernous room; his thoughts remained anchored in the park. He saw the stranger again—the worn jacket, the empty hands, the faint, weary smile he’d offered before disappearing. Richard felt agitated, almost irritated by his inability to dismiss the encounter.

The following day, he found himself drawn back to Riverside Park. He instructed his driver to wait and walked alone down the same path, sitting on a bench not far from where the wallet had been found. The air was colder today, the wind sharper. Richard pulled his coat tighter and let his eyes roam. He didn’t see the young man at first. Children chased each other across the grass, and a knot of teenagers congregated by the fountain. Richard waited, feigning interest in his phone, but his gaze never stopped searching.

Finally, he saw him, near the far edge of the park. The young man was sitting cross-legged on the grass, his back resting against an old oak tree, a paper cup held between his hands. Richard watched him from a distance. The man took careful sips, cradling the cup as if it were something precious and fragile. A tattered bag, likely containing all his worldly possessions, sat beside him. People passed by, their gazes sliding right over him. He was effectively invisible.

Richard remained until the chill became unbearable. He returned to the car without a word to his driver, only instructing him to bring him back the next day. This became his new, unspoken routine. For a week, he came each afternoon, watching from different benches, always maintaining a careful distance. He told himself it was just curiosity, a puzzle he needed to solve. He wanted to understand the man who would return a fortune without asking for anything in return.

On the third day, Richard observed Daniel speaking with an older woman whose hair was a tangled mess and whose coat was painfully thin. They sat together on a bench, and Richard saw Daniel reach into his bag and pull out a small sandwich wrapped in wax paper. He tore it in half and offered one part to the woman without a moment’s hesitation. She took it with hands that trembled. Daniel gave her a small, almost shy smile before eating his own portion.

Something twisted deep in Richard’s chest. He shifted on his bench, his grip tightening on his cane. He tried to rationalize what he was seeing, telling himself not to be sentimental. Perhaps the young man was trying to impress the woman. Perhaps it was a performance, a trick whose purpose he had yet to discern. But as the days unfolded, the pattern held. Daniel shared what little he possessed. Sometimes it was food, other times just a moment of conversation, always offered with a quiet grace that Richard found profoundly unsettling.

On the sixth day, Richard arrived earlier than usual. The park was nearly empty under a sky thick with gray clouds. He found Daniel sitting alone, a book open in his lap. The cover was battered, the pages dog-eared. Richard leaned forward, trying to read the title, but he was too far away. Daniel turned each page with a slow, deliberate motion, his lips moving slightly as he read. Richard let out a soft exhale. A homeless man, reading. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it was. He thought of the polished men in expensive suits he dealt with in boardrooms—men with advanced degrees who spoke in flawless sentences but whose hearts were filled with nothing but self-interest. Compared to them, this stranger looked broken, but he radiated an authenticity that felt more substantial than any of their accomplishments.

That evening, back in his penthouse, the silence felt louder than ever. He poured another drink he wouldn’t touch. The city glowed outside, a monument to wealth and ambition, but in that moment, it all felt hollow. His thoughts kept returning to the park, to the young man with the steady eyes and the quiet dignity. Richard was torn. Curiosity drew him in, but a lifetime of mistrust held him back. Experience had taught him that everyone wanted something, that kindness always came with a hidden price. Yet he couldn’t square that cynical belief with the quiet, consistent decency he had witnessed.

He sat at his desk, opened the wallet again, and stared at the bills. His own reflection stared back from the polished wood. He heard Daniel’s words again: You should be careful with it. A simple phrase, almost meaningless, yet it had lodged itself in his mind more firmly than any legally binding contract he had ever signed.

Richard closed the wallet with a slow, final motion and set it on the desk. The weight in his chest was no longer suspicion, but something that felt dangerously close to hope. It unsettled him as much as it gave him a strange, unfamiliar comfort.

The next morning, he awoke before his usual time. His driver was waiting downstairs, but Richard didn’t immediately give him his destination. He stood by the window, gazing out at the sprawling city. Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet, almost as if speaking to himself. “Back to Riverside.”

The driver nodded, asking no questions. As the car moved through the city streets, Richard sat in silence, his hands resting on his cane. He had no plan, no clear idea of what he would do when he got there. He only knew, with an unshakable certainty, that he could no longer stay away.

The sky over Riverside Park was a uniform, heavy gray, pregnant with the threat of rain. A damp chill clung to the air, discouraging most of the park’s usual patrons. Only a few solitary figures moved along the paths, coats pulled tight and heads bowed against the cold. Richard Thompson sat on his customary bench, cane planted firmly beside him, his gaze locked on the far side of the park. He had been coming for nearly a week, and though he wouldn’t admit it, he was waiting. His chest constricted when he finally saw him.

Daniel Carter was on a bench near the fountain, his back slightly hunched and his shoulders drawn in against the cold. He held a piece of bread—the cheap, day-old kind from a corner bakery. He took a slow bite, chewing with a patience that suggested he was trying to make every mouthful last. His face was etched with fatigue, but his expression was one of resolute calm. Richard leaned forward, captivated by the simple, stark image. A man eating stale bread in silence, alone, seemed to hold more significance than the clamor of any boardroom he had ever commanded.

Then Richard saw her. An older woman shuffled toward the bench, her frail body lost inside a thin coat several sizes too large, a faded scarf covering her tangled hair. She slowly lowered herself onto the opposite end of the bench, her hands trembling as she rubbed them together for warmth. Her gaze kept darting toward the bread in Daniel’s hands, though she tried to look away each time he might notice.

Richard’s knuckles whitened around the head of his cane. He watched, holding his breath.

Daniel saw her glances. He looked down at the remaining piece of bread, then back at her. Without a flicker of hesitation, he broke it in half. He held out one portion, his voice quiet but clear. “Here. You should eat.”

The woman’s lips parted in astonishment. For a moment, she seemed frozen, uncertain if the offer was real. Then, with shaking hands, she reached out and took the bread. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice raw. She bit into it immediately, her eyes closing as if the stale crust offered a moment of profound relief. Daniel offered a faint smile and began to eat his own smaller portion. He didn’t look for thanks or linger on her gratitude. The act of giving seemed as natural and necessary to him as breathing.

Richard sat completely still. His chest felt heavy, and the beat of his own heart sounded loud in the quiet park. The cane dug into his palm. When he had started following this young man, he had braced himself for anything—a trick, a flaw, some hidden agenda. What he found instead was this: a simple, undeniable act of grace.

He whispered the words aloud, to himself. “Why would he do that?” This time, the question was not born of suspicion, but of something approaching awe. For years, Richard had lived in a mansion where hot meals were served by staff and leftovers discarded without a second thought. He had watched business associates squander fortunes on meaningless luxuries, and he had done the same. Yet here, in the middle of a cold park, a man with nothing had just given away half of it.

The silence around him felt sharper, more profound. He could hear his own breathing, slow and ragged. His eyes remained fixed on Daniel, who was now talking quietly with the woman as they finished their meager meal. Richard saw the tension leave Daniel’s shoulders, saw the gentle tone he used. There was no performance here, no audience to impress. It was simply who he was.

Something stirred inside Richard, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in years. It was uncomfortable, almost painful, like a long-dormant nerve coming back to life. He thought of his wife, who always kept blankets in the trunk of her car to give to the homeless in winter. He thought of his daughter, who had once insisted on donating all her birthday money to a local shelter. They had believed in the power of kindness. For a long time, so had he. But after losing them, he had buried that belief under layers of cynicism and grief. Now, watching Daniel, it was being unearthed.

Richard closed his eyes for a moment, but the image was seared into his mind. A young man in tattered clothes, giving away his only food. A frail, hungry woman finding a moment of comfort. It was a world away from the cold logic of boardrooms and the endless columns of numbers that had defined his existence. And yet, it felt more real than anything he had known in decades.

When he opened his eyes, Daniel was still there, sitting calmly beside the woman. Richard studied every detail: the way Daniel listened intently when she spoke, the way he nodded encouragingly. Nothing about him suggested a man who was broken. He looked like a man who was holding on, even when he had nothing left to hold.

Richard exhaled, the sound loud in the still air. He straightened his posture, though his chest felt heavier with each passing moment. He finally understood that his daily visits were no longer about curiosity. This was something deeper, something he could no longer observe from a distance.

The clouds overhead finally broke, and a light drizzle began to fall. The few remaining people in the park hurried for cover, pulling up their hoods. Richard didn’t move. His eyes stayed on the bench where Daniel and the woman continued to share their bread, seemingly unbothered by the rain. For the first time in years, Richard felt a crack appear in the fortress he had built around his heart. He did not trust easily. He did not let people in. But as he watched Daniel, soaked by the rain yet still offering kindness, he knew one thing with absolute clarity: this man was different, and no amount of money could ever purchase what he had just witnessed.

The morning drizzle had passed, leaving the park damp and hushed. Wet leaves clung to the benches in glistening patches, and puddles on the path reflected the overcast sky. Richard Thompson stood near the spot where he had spent the last week as a silent observer. Today, however, he was not content to merely watch. Today, he had a purpose.

He saw Daniel on a distant bench, huddled in his jacket, his shoulders tight against the raw cold. His hair was still damp, and the rain had made his worn shoes look even more desolate. He held nothing in his hands, just sat staring at the ground. Richard’s heart beat a little faster as he started across the path, his grip on his cane providing a steady rhythm for his steps. When he stopped directly in front of the bench, Daniel looked up, his expression a mixture of surprise and caution.

Richard cleared his throat. “Mind if I sit?” His voice came out hoarser than he’d intended.

Daniel hesitated for a fraction of a second, then shifted to make room. “Go ahead.”

Richard lowered himself onto the cold, damp surface. An awkward silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the sound of the wind rustling through the bare branches. Richard stared straight ahead, toward the fountain. “I owe you something,” he said at last. “You returned my wallet last week. With every dollar still inside.”

Daniel’s expression didn’t change. “It wasn’t mine.”

“That’s all?” Richard turned to study him. “You could have taken it. No one would have known.”

Daniel looked down at his clasped hands. “It wouldn’t have been right.” His tone was simple, matter-of-fact, devoid of any pride.

A tightness constricted Richard’s chest. He tapped his cane once on the pavement, marshaling his thoughts. “Have you eaten today?” he asked.

Daniel gave a slight shake of his head, as if the question were of little importance. “I’ll get by.”

Richard pushed himself to his feet. “Come with me. There’s a diner down the street. Allow me to buy you a meal.”

Daniel stared at him, suspicion flickering in his eyes. “Why?”

“Because I want to,” Richard replied, his voice firm but not commanding. “That’s all.”

After a long pause, Daniel stood. His posture was still wary, but hunger was a more powerful force than his mistrust. They walked together in silence until the neon sign of Harper’s Diner came into view. The moment they stepped inside, the warmth enveloped them, rich with the smell of coffee and bacon. A waitress greeted them with a tired smile and showed them to a booth by the window.

Richard settled onto the vinyl seat, placing his cane beside him. Daniel slid in opposite him. The waitress poured them both coffee, and Daniel immediately wrapped his cold hands around the mug, absorbing its heat. He kept his eyes lowered until the menus were placed before them.

“Order anything you want,” Richard said.

Daniel scanned the options, his lips pressed into a thin line. He finally chose a simple plate of eggs, toast, and bacon. Richard ordered the same.

When the waitress had gone, Richard leaned forward, his hands folded on the table. “My name is Richard Thompson,” he began, his tone serious. “You may not know the name, but I’ve spent my life building a real estate empire. For years, I was surrounded by wealth, by people who wanted it, and by people who pretended they didn’t. But when my wife and daughter died, none of them remained. It’s been just me ever since.”

Daniel looked up, his brow furrowed with empathy. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said quietly.

Richard gave a single, sharp nod. “I don’t trust easily. But when you handed me that wallet, untouched, I realized something. I have more money than I could ever spend. What I don’t have is trust. Or kindness. You reminded me that those things still exist.”

Daniel shifted, uncomfortable with the praise, and took a sip of coffee. His hands trembled, from either cold or nerves. Their food arrived, breaking the intensity of the moment. Daniel ate with a quiet restraint, though each bite seemed to visibly restore some of his strength.

Richard watched him for a moment before speaking again. “You were an honest man when you had nothing. That says more about your character than any resume ever could. What did you do, before all this?”

Daniel put down his fork. “I was a mechanical engineer. Worked at Midtown Steel until the plant made cutbacks. Then my mother got sick. The medical bills… I couldn’t keep up. After she passed, I lost what was left.”

Richard exhaled slowly. It was a story he’d heard in different forms a hundred times. He tapped a finger on the table. “If you had the chance to work again, would you take it?”

Daniel’s head snapped up. “Work?”

“Yes,” Richard said firmly. “I can arrange a maintenance position at one of my properties. It’s not engineering, but it requires your skills. And I can see you’re a disciplined man.” He paused, gauging Daniel’s reaction. “I can also arrange for a small apartment. Somewhere to get back on your feet. Clean clothes, a proper bed, a door that locks. Everyone deserves that.”

Daniel stared at him, his face a canvas of disbelief and suspicion. “Why would you do this for me?”

“Because you earned it when you thought no one was watching,” Richard answered, his voice lowering, becoming more personal. “And because you reminded me of the man I once was.”

Silence descended on the booth. Daniel leaned back, his mind reeling. The offer was a lifeline, but the generosity of a complete stranger felt too good to be true. His jaw tightened. “I don’t want a handout.”

“It isn’t a handout,” Richard countered. “It’s an opportunity. What you do with it is entirely up to you.”

Daniel searched the older man’s face for any sign of a hidden motive, any hint of deceit. He found only a weary sincerity, tinged with a deep, abiding loneliness. Finally, he gave a single, decisive nod. “All right. I’ll take the chance.”

Richard’s shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly. He said nothing more, simply picked up his coffee cup, his own hands now steady.

From that day forward, everything changed. Richard made the calls from his office, his name still carrying enough weight to open any door. Daniel started work the following week, dressed in new clothes Richard had insisted on buying him. He threw himself into the job, repairing complex machinery and inspecting building systems, quickly demonstrating that his skills were as sharp as ever. Richard would visit the factory floor, leaning on his cane as he watched Daniel interact with the other workers. He saw the respect and patience Daniel afforded everyone, and it impressed him more than he let on.

The apartment was modest but clean and safe, with reliable heat and a real bed. The first time Daniel unlocked the door, Richard stood back, pretending not to notice the wave of pure relief that washed over the young man’s face.

As weeks turned into months, the two men met regularly at the diner or back at the park. Their conversations deepened. Richard found himself listening more than he had in years as Daniel spoke about his mother, his old job, and the daunting task of starting over. In return, Richard began sharing fragments of his own life, memories he had long kept locked away. The chasm between the billionaire and the man from the park began to close. What had started with suspicion was slowly transforming into something that felt remarkably like family.

Months went by, and Daniel Carter was no longer seen as a newcomer on the factory floor. He had earned his place through hard work and a quiet competence. Machines that had been neglected for years were brought back to life under his care. The other workers, accustomed to supervisors who barked orders, responded to his respectful demeanor.

By the third month, the man from the park bench was gone. Daniel’s clothes were clean, his frame had filled out with regular meals, and his posture was confident. Yet, he never lost his humility. He arrived early, stayed late, and was always the first to offer help. The crew’s initial skepticism had melted into genuine trust, signaled by friendly nods and shared jokes—small gestures that meant more than any formal promotion.

Richard Thompson’s visits became more frequent. At first, he came as an observer, his sharp eyes scanning for any flaw. But over time, his purpose shifted. He stopped looking for faults and instead found a quiet joy in seeing Daniel laugh with his colleagues. In the evenings, Richard would often drive Daniel back to his apartment, sometimes stopping at the diner first. The conversations flowed easily now, the silences comfortable. For Richard, the crushing loneliness of his penthouse began to recede. He still returned to empty rooms, but now his days had a new focus. He had someone to check on, someone who had reminded him that life could still hold honesty and purpose.

One evening, Richard invited Daniel to his home for dinner, something he hadn’t done for anyone in years. Daniel was hesitant at first, intimidated by the opulence, but Richard waved away his concerns. “This house hasn’t heard a real conversation in far too long,” he said, a rare softness in his eyes. They ate together at the long, polished table, their voices echoing in halls that had been silent since the accident. It was after that dinner that Richard began to seriously consider his legacy. His fortune was meaningless without someone to share it with. His family was gone, but he couldn’t deny the profound bond that had formed with the young man who had stumbled into his life by chance.

Weeks later, on a crisp autumn afternoon, Richard asked Daniel to meet him at Riverside Park. The trees were turning once again, their leaves a blaze of color. They walked slowly to the very bench where Daniel had returned the wallet. Richard leaned more heavily on his cane now, but his expression was lighter than Daniel had ever seen it.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, listening to the distant laughter of children. Richard finally cleared his throat, his gaze fixed on the fountain. “This is where it all began,” he said softly. “You handed me my wallet with every bill still inside. You could have walked away with it, and I wouldn’t have blamed you. But you didn’t.”

Daniel looked down. “It was the right thing to do.”

Richard turned to him, his eyes clear and steady. “Since that day, you have shown me something I thought was gone forever. Trust. Kindness. I built an empire, Daniel, but when I lost my family, none of it mattered. I lost my faith in people. You gave it back to me.”

Daniel’s chest tightened. He listened, unsure where this was going, but the gravity in Richard’s voice held him captive.

Richard’s hand trembled slightly as he gripped the head of his cane. “I have been alone for too long,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want to leave this world with nothing but empty rooms to show for my life. You have given me back a reason to live. If you’ll have me, I would like to call you my son. I want to make it official. I want you to inherit not just my company, but what’s left of my family.”

The words hung in the crisp air. Daniel felt his throat close up, and a sharp sting filled his eyes. He looked at the old man beside him and saw not a billionaire, but a father reaching out. “I… I don’t know what to say,” Daniel whispered, his voice cracking.

“Say yes,” Richard replied gently, a faint, genuine smile gracing his lips for the first time in years.

Daniel covered his face with his hands as a sob shook his shoulders. When he lowered them, tears streamed down his cheeks. “Yes,” he said, his voice unsteady but full of conviction. “Yes. I would be honored.”

Richard reached out and placed a firm, grounding hand on Daniel’s shoulder. The small gesture carried the weight of years of unspoken longing. They sat there together as the afternoon sun broke through the clouds, bathing the park in a warm, hopeful light. For the first time in a decade, Richard felt whole. And for Daniel, the persistent ache of loss and loneliness finally began to subside, replaced by something he never thought he’d find again: a home, a family, a place to belong.

That evening, they left the park side by side. The future was no longer an empty expanse. Daniel was no longer adrift, and Richard was no longer alone. Their two broken lives had been mended together, right there on the bench where it all began.