Harbor Gate had grown out of those years, not out of a sudden windfall. Loretta purchased businesses whose accounts needed attention, whose employees understood the work better than their executives, and whose customers had stopped believing promises that never reached the floor. Some deals failed. Some were rescued only because a night cleaner, a truck driver, or a payroll clerk described a problem that the consultants had overlooked. She had never regarded an employee's location on an organizational chart as a reliable measure of what that employee knew.
The lobby visit became a quiet habit. Before approving the final appointment of a new senior executive, Loretta often arrived as an ordinary visitor and sat where an ordinary visitor would be told to sit. She watched who greeted strangers, who ordered staff around, and whether the people with the smallest titles felt free to ask questions. The exercise was not a trick designed to catch executives in awkward moments; it was a chance to see whether the values printed in an annual report survived contact with an unknown person.
Nia knew that history. She also knew her mother was not infallible. Once, an executive who had been rude to Loretta had later proved to be dealing with a serious family emergency, and Loretta had apologized after learning the facts. That experience was one reason she insisted on gathering evidence rather than firing people for a single insult. She understood the difference between having a terrible morning and showing a consistent belief that some people were less deserving of ordinary respect.
"The water matters," Nia said as the sedan moved through midday traffic. "But you can't keep building companies around personal tests, Mom. Some things need independent proof."
"That's why we have auditors," Loretta answered. "And why your job is to tell me when the numbers do not agree with what I want to believe."
At the Harbor Gate offices that afternoon, Patricia Holt met Loretta in a small conference room overlooking a quieter street. Patricia was fifty-four, a lawyer by training and a negotiator by temperament, with a habit of tapping a pencil against her thumbnail when she was trying not to interrupt. She had negotiated the Belmont Row acquisition for months, including the financing arrangements that had allowed the previous shareholders to exit. Bradley had worked alongside her during the deal and had seemed energetic, well connected, and eager to present himself as indispensable.
"Loretta, how did it go?" Patricia asked.
"Leave his nomination where it is," Loretta replied. "And when you reach the chief executive announcement on Monday, we do it my way. Nia will send you the details."
Patricia set her pencil down. "You're going to get on that stage?"
"I'll be in the room."
"You know he thinks the CEO appointment is settled. He's already ordered a photographer."