Chapter 16
T he corporate office of Wilson Enterprises had incredible views of Manhattan, but Patrick stared past the gleaming cityscape toward the western horizon.
Two thousand miles beyond the urban sprawl lay Sapphire Bay.
He’d been in New York City for three days now, and the familiar rhythm of board meetings, conference calls, and strategic sessions felt totally foreign—like putting on a suit he’d outgrown years ago.
“Granddad, you’re doing it again,” Noah said softly, joining him at the floor-to-ceiling window.
Patrick turned away from the view, focusing on his grandson.
Noah had inherited the Devlin drive and intensity, but the stress of the past week had carved new lines around his eyes.
His usually immaculate appearance was slightly rumpled, his tie loosened, and Patrick could see the weight of responsibility bearing down on his shoulders.
“Doing what?” Patrick asked, though he knew exactly what Noah meant.
“Looking like you’d rather be anywhere else. I know this isn’t how you wanted to spend your time, but?—”
“Noah.” Patrick placed a firm hand on his grandson’s shoulder. “I’m here. I’m committed to helping you fight this. But that doesn’t mean I have to like leaving everything behind in Montana.”
The door to the conference room opened, and Cynthia Whitfield, the chairperson of Wilson Enterprises’ board, entered with her characteristic brisk efficiency.
At sixty-eight, she was a force of nature—sharp-eyed, silver-haired, and with a mind that could dissect a corporate strategy faster than most people could read it.
Patrick had recruited her to the board fifteen years ago, and she’d been Noah’s strongest ally ever since.
“Patrick, good to have you back where you belong,” she said, extending her hand with a firm grip that hadn’t weakened over the years.
“Cynthia.” Patrick accepted her handshake, noting the slight emphasis on ‘belong.’ She’d never hidden her opinion that his retirement had been premature. “I wish the circumstances were different.”
“Don’t we all.” She gestured toward the conference table, where thick folders and laptops were arrayed like weapons before a battle. “But Meridian has forced our hand. They’re not just after control—they want to gut everything Noah has built.”
As they settled around the polished mahogany table, Patrick’s mind wandered for a moment to Kathleen’s simple kitchen table, where they’d shared coffee and conversation, and where they’d talked about the hidden room. The contrast couldn’t have been sharper.
“Patrick?” Cynthia’s voice cut through his reverie. “I was explaining Meridian’s latest move.”
“Sorry,” he said, straightening in his chair. “The flight’s catching up with me.”
Cynthia’s sharp eyes studied him for a moment before continuing. “They’ve approached Mason Industries about selling their twelve percent stake. If that goes through, Meridian will control forty-two percent of outstanding shares.”
Noah sighed. “Which means they can force a vote to replace the entire board.”
“Including me,” Cynthia added grimly. “They’ve made no secret of the fact that they consider current management ‘ineffective and out of touch with shareholder interests.’ Which is where you come in,” she said, fixing Patrick with her penetrating stare.
“Your return to the board would signal to shareholders that we’re serious about protecting Wilson Enterprises’ future.
Your reputation in the industry carries weight—especially with the older investors who remember the support you gave Noah when he started the business. ”
“I’m not staying on the board permanently,” he told Cynthia. When she sent him one of her ‘are you crazy?’ scowls, he almost laughed. “Have you considered that what the shareholders might need isn’t in the past?”
Cynthia frowned. “What do you mean?”
“People like to know where they stand and what’s happening with their investment,” Patrick said carefully.
“They need confidence in the future, not the past. Noah’s leadership has been outstanding, and the company’s financial position is stronger than ever.
The shareholders need to know that the money they’ve invested is in good hands. ”
“But Meridian is painting us as a family business that’s lost its edge,” Noah said, frustration creeping into his voice. “They’re claiming we’re too comfortable, too risk-averse. Having you back would counter that narrative.”
Cynthia nodded. “People are already speculating about a generational transition. Your presence would demonstrate continuity while still maintaining Noah’s position as CEO.”
Patrick thought about his new life in Sapphire Bay.
Underneath the drive that had made his own company successful was something new—a longing for simpler things.
Kathleen’s laughter. The satisfaction of working with his hands on the arts center project.
Pastor John’s quiet wisdom. Did he really want to leave that behind?
Cynthia leaned forward. “Help us send a message to our shareholders, Patrick. We need to reassure them while exposing Meridian’s true intentions.”
“I need help, Granddad,” Noah said quietly.
“I’ve been commuting between Montana and Manhattan for long enough.
It wasn’t so bad when it was only Cassie and me at home.
But since our children arrived, I’ve missed out on too many milestones.
If you rejoin the board of directors, it would take some of the pressure off me. ”
Patrick studied his grandson’s face. He knew how much Noah had sacrificed to continue to lead his company after he’d met Cassie. “I’m happy to stay here for a few weeks,” Patrick said. “But I’ll need some time to think about rejoining the board. It’s a big commitment.”
Cynthia’s eyebrows rose. “Time is something we don’t have much of, Patrick. Each day gives Meridian more opportunity to solidify its position.”
“I understand the urgency,” Patrick replied firmly. “But this decision affects more than just Wilson Enterprises. I have commitments in Montana. People who are depending on me. Staying for longer than two weeks, or even commuting back and forth, is something I didn’t think I’d ever do.”
“What commitments could possibly be more important than this?” Cynthia asked, her tone suggesting she couldn’t imagine any reasonable answer.
Patrick thought about how to explain his work with the church and the tiny home project, Kathleen’s foundation repairs, and the promise he’d made to Pastor John.
How could he articulate the quiet satisfaction of building something with his own hands, or the way Kathleen’s smile had begun to feel like coming home?
“I’ve built a life there,” he said simply. “A good life. With people I care about. I made the mistake of working too many hours when Noah and Jack were boys. It’s time I enjoyed my retirement and the life I’ve created in Sapphire Bay.”
He wanted to tell Noah not to make the same mistakes he’d made with his family. But with Cynthia here, it wasn’t the right time or place to discuss something so personal.
Noah sent Patrick an understanding smile. “It’s okay, Granddad. I understand what you’re saying. I appreciate you coming back with me for this. It doesn’t matter if you don’t want a permanent role on the board.”
“Of course it does,” Cynthia said to Noah, gesturing toward the windows and the city beyond. “This is your legacy. It’s everything you built, everything you fought for. Your granddad needs to be seen to be as committed as you are to the future of your business.”
Noah shook his head. “If there’s one thing Granddad has taught me, it’s that a business isn’t just about what you build. It’s about who you become in the process.”
The conference room fell silent except for the distant hum of traffic fifty-two floors below. Patrick could see the doubt in Cynthia’s eyes. She’d expected Noah to back her up and for Patrick to stay in Manhattan—the way he always had.
“I’ll give you my answer in two days,” Patrick said finally.
“But I want you both to understand something. If I do this, if I come back to the board, it’s not because I think this is more important than the life I’ve built in Sapphire Bay.
It’s because Noah is my grandson, and I’ll do everything I can to help him. ”
As he stood to leave, Patrick caught sight of his reflection in the window—a man in an expensive suit surrounded by the trappings of corporate power.
But on top of that was the image of the man he’d become in Montana: hands dirty from honest work, heart full of simple pleasures, and sleeping soundly because he’d spent his days doing something more rewarding than outmanoeuvring the opposition.
Walking toward the elevator, Patrick pulled out his phone and scrolled to Kathleen’s number.
He started to type a text message, then stopped.
What could he say? That he was torn between two worlds?
That he missed her laugh more than he’d expected?
Or that the locket he’d given her felt like a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep?
Instead, he simply typed: Thinking of you. Hope you’re well.
As the elevator carried him down toward the streets of Manhattan, Patrick wondered if choosing between love and loyalty was always this complicated, or if he’d simply forgotten how much courage both required.