It was late afternoon, the kind of hour where the day hadn’t quite released its grip. Daniel called out from the living room that the phone was ringing, his voice casual, distracted by whatever was on his screen. Clare went into the kitchen to take it, leaning against the counter as she listened, absently watching the light shift across the floor.
Her father didn’t preface it. He never did. “I’m ready to step back,” he said. “And I want you to take over.” Clare laughed at first, certain she had misunderstood. But he was serious. He had built the company slowly, carefully, and he was tired. He wanted it in capable hands. Hers. “I trust you,” he said simply. “More than anyone.”