He didn't answer. 3 years. Darnell said. I know how long it's been. She would want.
I know what she would want. Darnell. His voice came out quieter than he intended. I know. I know that better than anyone.
It's not about permission. Then what is it about? He was quiet for a long time. Fear, he said finally. It's about fear.
Darnold didn't say anything. He didn't push. He just stayed on the line. Present. The way older brothers stay on the line when there's nothing to say.
That's more useful than being there. Caleb stopped. I don't know what she is. She's something I don't have a category for. That might be the point.
Yeah, be careful. Darnell said. It wasn't a warning. It was the other kind of careful. The kind that means don't hold back too hard either.
Yeah. And Caleb? What? He closed his eyes. Yeah.
He said, "I know. The thing Caleb didn't know. The thing Natalie hadn't told him yet was what was sitting on her desk on a Thursday morning, the week after the farmers market. She'd come into her office early while the building was still quiet, while the city outside the high window was still deciding what kind of day it was going to be. She'd had her coffee.
She'd reviewed her session notes. She'd looked at Gerald's tank for a while, which was a habit she'd developed recently that she didn't examine too closely. And then her assistant had sent through a document. She'd read it twice. It was a proposal from the board, clear, professional, written with the careful language of people who knew how to present something that looked like an offer, but was structured like an expectation.
A new division. West Coast expansion, a position that would require her as founder and active CEO to relocate to San Francisco for a minimum of 18 months, potentially longer. The financial projections were aggressive and entirely achievable. The timeline was tight, but manageable. It was on paper exactly what she'd told herself she was building toward.