The silence in the elevator on the way down from Elias's office was a living thing. It pressed against the walls, heavy and suffocating. Clara watched the floor numbers tick down in the reflection of the polished brass doors, her mind replaying the last five minutes.
"Don't make me regret it, Clara."
He had used her name like a warning. Or a prayer. She couldn't decide which was more unsettling.
As the doors slid open in the lobby, the humid evening air hit her. She expected to see Elias's sleek car pull away, but instead, she found him standing by the fountain in the plaza, his back to the building. He was staring at the commuters rushing toward the subway, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
He looked less like a Senior Partner and more like a man who had forgotten how to go home.
"Still here, Thorne?" Clara asked, smoothing her blazer as she approached. "I thought you'd be halfway to a five-star dinner by now, celebrating your 'optimization' of my supply chain."
Elias turned. The streetlights caught the sharp angles of his face, casting long shadows that made him look older. "I don't celebrate, Ms. Vance. I conclude. There's a difference."
"A dismal one," she countered. She began walking toward the parking garage, and to her surprise, he fell into step beside her.
"Your father," Elias said abruptly, his voice cutting through the city noise. "The gambling debts. How much did you know?"
Clara stiffened. The subject was a raw nerve, a jagged piece of glass she kept buried under layers of professional pride. "I knew enough. I knew the bank was three days away from seizing the fleet. I knew my mother was crying in the kitchen because she didn't want to lose the house she'd lived in for thirty years. Why? Is that part of your 'due diligence' too? Assessing the emotional wreckage?"
"No," Elias said quietly. They reached the entrance of the garage, where the shadows grew deeper. He stopped, turning to face her. "I was just wondering why you didn't just walk away. You had a degree from a top university. You could have started your own firm without the anchor of his mistakes."
Clara looked at him, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something more profound. "Because it wasn't just an anchor, Elias. It was a promise. Those drivers, those mechanics—they aren't just entries on a ledger. They're families. My father might have forgotten that, but I won't. I don't leave people behind."
Elias stared at her, his expression unreadable. For a moment, the distance between them felt like it was shrinking, the space filled with the weight of things unsaid.
"Loyalty is a luxury few can afford," he said, his voice barely a whisper.
"Or maybe it's the only thing that actually has value," she shot back. "But I wouldn't expect a man who 'optimizes' for a living to understand that."
She turned and walked into the darkness of the garage, her footsteps echoing against the concrete. She didn't look back, but she could feel his gaze on her, a steady, burning pressure between her shoulder blades.
Elias stood in the plaza long after she had gone, the city lights reflecting in his dark eyes. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, tarnished silver coin—a lucky charm his own father had given him before the bailiffs arrived twenty years ago.
He gripped it until the edges bit into his palm. He had spent his whole life trying to forget the feeling of being left behind. And here was Clara Vance, a woman who refused to do exactly that.
He wasn't just restructuring a company. He was realizing, with a terrifying clarity, that he was restructuring his entire understanding of the world.