He twisted, his face scrunching up in frustration. Claire watched, expecting the boy to whine, expecting Dean to swoop in, take the thermos, open it, and hand it back, the way efficiency dictated. Dean didn't move. He kept his eyes on his saw, measuring a 45° angle. He was fully aware of his son's struggle.
Claire could see the subtle shift in Dean's shoulders, the way he tilted his head to listen to the boy's breathing. But he let him struggle. For 2 full minutes, Leo wrestled with the lid. His face turned red. He dropped it, picked it up, adjusted his grip.
Finally, with a sharp crack, the seal broke. The boy let out a heavy breath, unscrewed the lid, and took a drink. Dean finally turned his head, caught his son's eye, and gave a single, firm nod. Leo didn't smile, but he sat up a little straighter, putting the thermos down. Claire felt a strange tightening in her throat.
It was the purest display of parenting she had ever witnessed. It wasn't about saving the child from the struggle. It was about trusting the child to overcome it. "He's very independent," Claire found herself saying. Dean paused the saw.
He pulled off his safety glasses and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "He has to be. I'm not going to be around forever. If I fix everything for him now, he'll expect the world to do the same when I'm gone. The world doesn't care about your problems, Ms.
Montgomery. It just demands that you fix them. " "I know that better than anyone," Claire said, a defensive edge creeping back into her voice. "I built a company from nothing. I know," Dean said simply. Claire blinked.
"You know who I am? " "I know you own Vanguard," Dean replied, picking up a piece of sandpaper. "I looked you up before I took the contract from Richard. You bought out three family-owned freight lines in the Midwest last year, liquidated two of them, Fired about 400 people. Claire's spine stiffened. It was a necessary market correction.
Their operating costs were unsustainable. I saved the core infrastructure. I'm not judging your ledgers, Ms. Montgomery. Dean said, his voice remaining terrifyingly level.
I'm just saying I know what kind of world you live in. A world of spreadsheets and profit margins. You cut away the fat to save the machine. I get it. He walked over to the fireplace, kneeling down to sand the edge of the hearth.
But you can't run a human life like a corporation, he said quietly. Eventually, you run out of things to cut. The words hung in the air, heavy with sawdust and truth. Claire gripped her coffee cup until her knuckles turned white. She wanted to fire him.