“I am.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted more responsibility.”
He paused.
“I just don’t want it handed to me in a family envelope.”
That made me smile.
“Neither do I.”
We talked then about succession.
Properly.
No Mother’s Day.
No spa.
No private dinner.
Conference room.
Numbers.
Roles.
Timeline.
I told him I had no immediate plan to reduce my voting stake.
He accepted it.
Then asked:
“What would I need to prove before you consider it?”
That was the first right question.
Not:
When do I get it?
What do I need to prove?
I answered carefully.
Independent leadership.
Sound controls.
No automatic approval of family vendors.
Ability to disagree with me professionally without retreating into sonhood.
And the understanding that even if he did everything well, ownership decisions remained mine until I chose otherwise.
He listened.
Took notes.
Actual notes.
I almost laughed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“A little.”
He shook his head.
Then:
“I can work with that.”
Good.
At nine weeks, Paige asked to meet me at Juniper House.
That startled me.
“No.”
She accepted immediately.
Then explained.
“I wanted to apologize there.”
“I understand.”
“I do not want to go back.”
There was relief in admitting it.
We chose a public garden instead.
Neutral.
She arrived carrying nothing.
We walked.
For twenty minutes, we talked about ordinary things.
Weather.
Her mother.
A book Diane recommended.
Then Paige said:
“I paid the first reimbursement installment.”
“I know.”
“Celeste emailed confirmation.”
“She would.”
Paige smiled.
Then:
“I’m not asking for praise.”
“Good.”
“I wanted to tell you because I think part of my problem was making money secret whenever I was ashamed.”
I looked at her.
“Continue.”
She took a breath.
“I hid spending from Grant.”
“Not huge things at first.”
“A treatment.”
“Jewelry.”
“Then reimbursements.”
“I kept thinking I’d correct it before anyone noticed.”
“Then the restructuring became another way to solve the feeling instead of the behavior.”
“What feeling?”
“That I had no security of my own.”
I thought.
“Do you now?”
“A little.”
“How?”
“I opened my own consulting work completely separate from Northstar.”
“Smaller clients.”
“Real contracts.”
“No family company.”
“That sounds healthier.”
“It pays less.”
I smiled.
“Reality often does.”
She laughed.
Then became serious.
“I also stopped using Grant’s money as evidence that I was safe.”
That sentence stayed with me.
“Good.”
“And you?”
I frowned.
“What about me?”
“Did you stop using Northstar as evidence Grant loves you?”
I stopped walking.
Paige immediately looked horrified.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
I raised one hand.
“Don’t take it back.”
Because the question hurt.
