As the sun began to set, casting long shadows through the bare windows of the Great House, the men packed their tools. They walked home through the biting wind, shoulders hunched, thinking of the meager stew waiting for them—proud of a hard day's work, never realizing they had just handed over their future to a man who would never even learn their names.

The men laughed, a dry, coughing sound. They were cold, their boots were thin, and their stomachs were often empty, yet they defended the system that kept them that way. They believed that the "Money Trick"—the way wealth was sucked upward while they fought over crumbs—was simply the way of the world.

"He doesn't hire you out of kindness," Owen said, climbing down. He picked up a few scraps of bread and some pebbles from the floor to demonstrate his point. "He hires you because your sweat turns into his gold. You are the ones giving him a gift every single day. You are the world's greatest givers, dressed in rags."