"The car is waiting. We have a private flight scheduled out of the regional airport in two hours. You've had your little sabbatical. It's time to clean off the grime and come back to reality." Clare stood up slowly.
She looked down at the desk, the ledgers, the neat stack of invoices, the cheap coffee mug she used every morning. She looked over at Sam, who had stopped stacking boxes and was watching the men with wide, frightened eyes. Finally, Clare looked at Dean. Dean's face was unreadable. The betrayal wasn't loud.
It was a quiet, devastating retreat. The walls he had slowly started to lower over the past month slammed back into place with audible force. The grease on his hands, the bleeding knuckles, the smell of the shop. Suddenly, it all felt cheap. He felt like a charity case.
A stray dog she decided to feed for a few weeks to pass the time. "You lied," Dean stated. It wasn't a question. I never lied," Clare said, her voice tight. "You explicitly told me to ask zero questions.
I assumed the rule applied to you as well. You let me pay you $$20 an hour in cash." Dean's voice grew harsher, the grit returning. You ate stale grilled cheese off the hood of a car. You're a billionaire.
"I am a person who needed a job," Clare snapped, the corporate mask cracking. I needed to fix things that could actually be fixed. I needed to exist somewhere without a board of directors breathing down my neck. "So, you came here to play poor?" Dean stepped forward, closing the distance.
You used my shop, my life, my kid as a vacation home for your mental health. "Don't do that," Clare warned, her eyes flashing. "Do not reduce what I've done here to a vacation. I saved this business. I reorganized your debt.
I got your parts. I kept you afloat. "I didn't ask to be saved by a CEO," Dean yelled, the raw volume startling Sam, who flinched in the corner. Dean caught the movement and instantly lowered his voice, though the fury remained. "I asked for an employee.
You came in here and played a role. This is my actual life, Clare. When the month ends, I still have to figure out how to keep the lights on. You get to get in a Mercedes and fly away." Arthur cleared his throat.
"As touching as this socioeconomic dispute is, we truly have a schedule to keep. Clare. The car." Clare didn't look at Arthur. She kept her eyes locked on Dean.