Chapter 100 - Three Years #3
Good.
Then Jane asked—
"How's the monster company?"
I looked at her.
"Which one?"
Both laughed.
Rude.
"The plastic one."
"Healthy."
"That's good."
"Yes."
She waited.
I kept eating.
Then—
"But?"
I sighed.
"Why does everybody hear the but?"
"You have a but face."
No.
Absolutely not.
I leaned back.
"It works."
Chloe nodded.
"Okay."
"Profit is healthy."
"Good."
"Operations stable."
"Good."
"Management better."
Jane waited.
I looked at them.
"I hate owning it."
Silence.
Then Chloe—
"Oh."
Exactly.
Jane did not laugh.
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"That sounds like you do know."
Rude.
I thought.
"I liked fixing it."
Jane nodded slowly.
"But now it doesn't need fixing."
There.
She found it.
I looked at her.
"Apparently."
Chloe asked—
"So you're bored?"
"No."
"Then?"
I struggled.
That annoyed me more than the business itself.
Finally—
"I don't care enough about what it becomes next."
There.
That was true.
I cared that it stayed healthy.
I cared about employees.
Managers.
Customers.
Capital protection.
All responsible owner things.
But did I want to spend ten more years building a polymer manufacturing group?
No.
Immediate.
Clear.
Fuck.
Jane asked—
"If you had seen Nova today, already healthy, would you buy it?"
I stared.
There.
The question I should have asked three years ago.
Healthy company.
Same earnings.
Same industry.
Same people.
Same future capital needs.
Would I deploy my money today to own it?
"No."
Quiet.
Very quiet.
Chloe looked at me.
"Then why are you keeping it?"
"Because I already own it."
She made a face.
I knew that face.
Even before she spoke.
"Sunk cost."
"Don't."
Jane laughed.
"Monster knows finance until finance attacks her personally."
"Fuck you."
Good.
Needed.
Then Jane asked the rude question.
Again.
"Maybe you need a girlfriend."
I stared.
"How did we get here?"
"You're unhappy with a company."
"So romantic partnership is the fix?"
"No. I'm just checking."
"You checked last year."
"And?"
"Still no."
"Marriage?"
"No."
"Children?"
"No current application."
Chloe nearly spit out her drink.
Jane laughed.
"You don't have to turn everything into HR."
"You keep interviewing me."
"Do you not want any of it ever?"
That was different.
I thought.
Ever was dangerous.
I had loved.
Been married.
Had Aria.
Lost.
Loved Tori.
Loved Audrey.
Wanted Jane.
Multiple lives full of answers.
This current Lia?
This life?
"No important romance."
They stared.
Fuck.
Again.
Wrong phrasing.
I corrected—
"I mean, no. Not right now. Maybe ever, maybe not. I don't know."
Jane tilted her head.
"You're scared."
I almost denied it.
Then stopped.
Current Jane had earned honesty as my friend.
Maybe not all of it.
Enough.
"A little."
"Of heartbreak?"
I smiled without humor.
"I've had enough."
She did not know how true that was.
Neither did Chloe.
And they did not need to.
Chloe said—
"Fair."
That was all.
No—
You have to try.
No—
You'll meet someone.
No—
Don't close your heart.
Thank God.
Jane stole a piece of chicken from my plate.
"Still asking next year."
"Rude."
After they left, I stood alone in the condo.
Their dishes on the table.
Jane's mug in the sink.
Chloe's charger still attached near the couch.
Quiet.
Not lonely.
Different.
I realized I liked this.
My condo.
Friends dropping by.
Family dinners.
Work.
Businesses.
No romantic uncertainty.
No wondering whether somebody still wanted me.
No earning.
No choosing between histories.
No breakup waiting in a future I could not see.
Maybe that was avoidance.
Maybe.
It was also peaceful.
This life did not need romance to prove it was full.
Good.
The next morning, I opened Nova's capital request.
Read it again.
Good project.
Reasonable return.
Then I looked at the bigger question.
Did I want to keep allocating money here?
Did I want to own Nova five years from now?
Ten?
Did this company belong in the portfolio because I wanted its future—
or because I had been proud enough to rescue its past?
There.
That one hurt.
I had spent three years proving I could fix it.
And I had.
Nova was healthy.
Profitable.
Stable.
Management capable.
Employees safer.
Systems better.
Customers served.
No failure.
No hidden disaster.
No turnaround collapse.
I succeeded.
And somehow—
it still wasn't worth it.
Not the company.
The choice.
The attention.
The capital.
The opportunity cost.
I had been asking one question:
Can I fix it?
Yes.
Clearly.
Dangerously.
The question I should have asked was—
If it were already fixed, would I still want to own it?
For Nova?
No.
I closed the capital request.
Then opened a blank document.
At the top, I wrote:
NOVA POLYMER — STRATEGIC OPTIONS
Under it—
1. Keep.
2. Partial sale.
3. Full sale.
I stared at number three.
For the first time in three years, I felt excited about Nova again.
That probably told me everything.