A senior vice president scoffed. "That drops our immediate ROI by 6%." "It's a charity play, and it's a long-term sustainability play," Clare countered, standing up. And if you can't see the value in keeping the engine running rather than selling it for scrap, you lack the vision to sit at this table. She looked around the room.
The shock on their faces was palpable. They were looking at her like she was speaking a foreign language. Maybe she was "Arthur," Clare said, turning to her counsel. "Draft the paperwork for a transition of power. I am stepping down as active CEO.
I will retain my majority shares in my board seat. Appoint David as interim." Arthur stared at her completely unmed. "You're abandoning the company for what?" Clare grabbed her coat from the back of the chair.
It wasn't a bespoke trench coat. It was a faded canvas jacket. "I'm not abandoning anything," Clare said. "I'm delegating. I have an overdue invoice to collect."
Four days later, the rain in Oak Haven was falling in sheets, drumming a relentless, deafening rhythm against the tin roof of Miller's auto. Dean was standing at the front desk staring at a stack of incredibly organized color-coded files. The shop was running. Rick, the supplier, had dropped off the brake pads right on schedule, offering a terrified, polite wave before fleeing the lot. The bank wasn't calling.
The mortgage was current. It was everything he had fought for over the last two years. He had finally stopped drowning. and he had never felt so entirely hollowly empty. The bell above the door didn't chime. It clanked.
Dean didn't look up from the files. We're closing up. If you need a toe, the numbers on the glass. "Your front-right bay door is sticking on the track," a voice said it needs heavy-duty grease, not WD40. It's a mechanical failure waiting to happen.
Dean froze. The files slipped from his hand, scattering across the laminate desk. He looked up. Clare was standing in the doorway. Her boots were muddy.
Her canvas jacket was soaked through at the shoulders. She didn't look like a billionaire. She looked exactly like the woman who had terrorized his collections list. Dean's jaw tightened. The instinct to throw his walls back up was immediate and violent.
"Did you leave your watch behind on your little poverty safari?" Clare didn't flinch. She walked forward, stepping behind the counter without asking permission. She stopped 2 feet away from him. "I stepped down," Clare said simply.