The Heart of Pineville

Claire’s sensible loafers clicked on the worn linoleum floor, each step a crisp punctuation mark in the symphony of whirring machinery and distant laughter. Pineville’s Evergreen Toy Co. was less a factory and more a sprawling, slightly ramshackle organism, breathing with a life that Claire found utterly illogical. She clutched her tablet like a shield, its sleek, modern lines a stark contrast to the chipped paint and the scent of sawdust and something vaguely like cinnamon that permeated the air.

“This,” Ben announced, gesturing with a sweep of his arm as if unveiling a masterpiece, “is the heart of Pineville.”

Claire raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “It appears to be a collection of rather old, rather inefficient production lines, Mr. Davies.” She consulted her tablet. “The Q3 profit margin is… concerning, to say the least.”