Suddenly, his desperate need to save the company made perfect sense. It wasn’t about money or ego. It was about preserving the only thing that gave his life meaning.
“Is that why you’ve been making increasingly risky investments?” I asked gently. “Because the safe choices remind you of what you lost?”
Harrison was quiet for a long moment. “You’re quite the psychologist along with being a financial wizard.”
“I’m a mother,” I said. “I understand loving someone so much that losing them breaks something inside you.”
“Your son?”
“My son broke something different,” I said. “Trust, mostly. But love—that’s harder to kill.”
We worked in comfortable silence after that, both of us focused on numbers that represented more than profit and loss. They represented hope, redemption, and the possibility that broken things could be repaired.
The company’s recovery became undeniable. Revenue stabilized. Debt payments were on schedule. The profitable investments exceeded projections. But Webb’s campaign intensified.
“He’s calling for another board meeting,” Harrison said, reading an email. “Emergency session to discuss ongoing concerns about leadership decisions.”
“Let him,” I said. “We have the numbers on our side now.”
At midnight, Harrison called for a car to take me home. As I gathered my papers, he touched my arm gently.
“Katherine,” he said, “thank you. Not just for the financial advice—for understanding.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” I said. “We still have a company to save, and something tells me Webb’s not finished with us.”
