Chapter 102 - Onward
After Nova, I stopped buying companies because they were interesting.
This sounds like a very low standard for personal growth.
It was not.
For me, it was revolutionary.
Before Nova:
Broken?
Interesting.
Bad margins?
Interesting.
Owner-dependent?
Very interesting.
Operational disaster with real customers underneath?
Fuck.
Give me the financials.
After Nova, I added one extremely annoying question.
Would I want this business if somebody else had already fixed it?
That question killed most deals before due diligence.
Beautiful.
Cheap.
Highly recommended.
The first test came less than six months after the sale.
Corrugated packaging operation.
Not distressed.
Not perfect either.
Boxes.
Mailers.
Dividers.
Shipping cartons.
Custom dimensions.
Regular B2B customers.
Decent equipment.
Owner retiring.
Management already functional.
I reviewed the teaser.
No immediate urge to redesign their receivables.
Good sign.
Then I imagined it healthy.
Exactly as advertised.
Would I still want it?
Yes.
That surprised me.
Why?
Because our existing packaging businesses were already buying corrugated materials.
Our commercial clients needed shipping boxes.
Our food-packaging clients needed outer cartons.
Our e-commerce customers needed mailers.
The business fit whether it was broken or not.
There.
New criterion.
Not—
I can save you.
But—
You belong here.
Much healthier.
Probably.
I still did due diligence.
Obviously.
I had not become reckless in the opposite direction.
Financials.
Equipment.
Environmental compliance.
Customer mix.
Supplier terms.
Management.
Lease.
Maintenance.
Working capital.
Margins.
Then I asked my favorite new question again before making the offer.
Healthy tomorrow.
Would I want it?
Yes.
Bought.
No dramatic turnaround.
No heroic rescue.
Small process improvements.
Better procurement.
Some shared clients.
Capital where justified.
Then—
leave it alone.
That last part was surprisingly difficult.
I kept wanting to improve things that were already fine.
Not bad.
Fine.
There was a difference.
At one meeting, their general manager presented an operating process I would have designed differently.
I opened my mouth.
Stopped.
Asked—
"Is it causing a problem?"
"No."
"Expensive?"
"No."
"Slow?"
"Not really."
"Quality issue?"
"No."
I closed my mouth.
Growth.
I nearly deserved an award.
Jane did not know I had bought it for almost four months.
Not because I was hiding it.
I simply had better things to talk about.
That was also growth.
We were eating dinner at my condo when Chloe mentioned seeing a new company name under Ramos Ventures.
Jane looked at me.
"You bought something?"
"Yes."
She sighed.
I waited for—
How much?
Instead—
"Do you actually like this one?"
I stared.
Rude.
But good.
"Yes."
Immediate.
Jane paused.
Then smiled.
"Oh."
"What?"
"That sounded different."
"It's boxes."
"You like boxes?"
"I like the business."
Chloe laughed.
"Finally."
"Fuck you."
Jane reached for one of my fries.
I slapped her hand.
Everything remained properly balanced.
My condo changed slowly.
First I had bought it because traffic was offensive.
Then it became home.
Actual home.
Not family home.
Different.
Mama and Papa's house was still—
home.
Roots.
Noise.
Food I had not requested but would be required to eat anyway.
My condo became the place where nobody needed me.
That was valuable.
Especially once people started needing me professionally for things I had never imagined at twenty-three.
Board meeting.
Investment approval.
Acquisition review.
Bank meeting.
Management succession.
Capital plan.
Supplier negotiation.
Executive hiring.
Risk committee.
Words younger me would have hated.
Current me also hated some of them.
Just more expensively.
Jane and Chloe still came over.
Often enough that I stopped thinking of it as hosting.
Chloe had permanent slippers.
Jane eventually had three mugs.
Three.
I accused her of deliberately expanding her asset base.
She said—
"You taught me diversification."
Terrible student.
They also continued asking about my romantic life.
Apparently friendship had no statute of limitations for harassment.
At thirty-one—
Jane:
"Dating?"
"No."
At thirty-two—
Chloe:
"Anyone?"
"No."
At thirty-three—
Jane:
"Marriage?"
"Are you conducting annual census?"
"Yes."
"No."
At thirty-four—
Chloe:
"Still nothing?"
"I own companies."
Jane immediately pointed at me.
"We've discussed this. Companies are not spouses."
"I did not say they were."
"You keep answering with them."
Fair.
Then I met Jessica.
Which was annoying.
Not because of Jessica.
She was nice.
That was the problem.
Jessica was not in business.
Thank God.
She was a dentist.
General practice.
Had her own small clinic with one associate dentist and several staff.
Competent.
Independent.
Her business ambition ended approximately at—
I would like my clinic to run well and then I would like to go home.
Baffling.
Healthy.
We met because Chloe needed a dentist.
Apparently friendship had finally produced something useful.
Chloe recommended the clinic afterward.
I needed cleaning.
Very romantic.
Jessica knew nothing about me beyond my name.
That was refreshing.
She cleaned my teeth.
Told me I was clenching.
I denied it.
She stared.
"You probably do."
"I don't."
"Your teeth disagree."
Rude.
Then she asked what I did.
"Business."
"What kind?"
I paused.
She waited.
"Several."
"Oh."
That was it.
No—
How many?
No—
How much?
No—
Can you look at my cousin's company?
Beautiful.
I came back six months later.
Not because of attraction.
Dental health.
Important.
She remembered me.
Unfortunately.
"Still clenching?"
"No."
She looked at my teeth.
"Still lying?"
I laughed.
Fine.
Maybe attraction.
A little.
We met outside the clinic eventually.
Entirely by accident.
Coffee shop.
She waved.
I waved.
She asked if she could join me.
"Yes."
We talked.
Normal things.
Travel.
Food.
Family.
She liked pottery.
I did not understand why anyone voluntarily touched wet clay for relaxation.
She explained.
I still did not understand.
Fine.
Then she asked—
"Are you seeing anyone?"
Direct.
Good.
"No."
"Interested?"
I looked at her.
There.
Simple.
Current information.
Maybe.
"Yes."
Jessica smiled.
"Good."
Then—
"Dinner?"
"Yes."
That was it.
No crisis.
No roster.
No dating pool.
No Chloe commentary yet.
Peace.
For approximately fourteen hours.
Then Chloe found out.
Of course.
Chloe: JESSICA???
Lia: how
Chloe: SHE IS MY DENTIST
Right.
Fuck.
Chloe: you went to CLEAN YOUR TEETH
Lia: yes
Chloe: and came back with a date
Lia: technically months later
Then Jane appeared in the group chat.
Jane: DATING?????
I put my phone down.
Mistake.
It started vibrating immediately.
Jessica and I dated quietly.
That was the best word.
Quietly.
Dinner.
Movies.
Sometimes she stayed over.
Sometimes I stayed at her place.
She met Jane and Chloe eventually.
Chloe behaved.
Mostly.
Jane looked at Jessica, then me, then asked—
"So how did this happen?"
Jessica answered—
"Plaque."
I stared.
Jane laughed so hard she almost cried.
Wonderful.
My love life reduced to dental hygiene.
Jessica never wanted access to my companies.
She did not care what we acquired.
She did not ask for free printing.
She did not ask me to invest in the clinic.
She did not ask me to help her grow ten branches.
Once I asked—
"Do you want another clinic?"
She looked horrified.
"No."
"Why?"
"One is enough."
I stared.
She laughed.
"You look personally offended."
"I'm processing."
"I already make enough."
Another foreign concept.
"What if demand grows?"
"I refer them."
I stared harder.
Jessica laughed again.
"You're very strange."
Correct.
We were good.
Not life-changing.
Not cosmic.
Not—
this is the love story of Reset 4.
Just good.
There were weekends.
Trips.
Dental lectures.
Me pretending flossing was optional.
Her proving it was not.
She came to family dinners.
Mama liked her.
Ate Bianca asked practical questions.
Kuya Nathan made jokes.
Ate Vivian liked her immediately.
Sofia looked at me afterward and said—
"She's normal."
I stared.
"What does that mean?"
"Exactly what I said."
Rude.
Jessica and I lasted a little over two years.
Then her sister moved abroad.
Jessica had already been considering joining her eventually.
An opportunity came to practice there.
Good clinic.
Good location.
Better work-life balance.
Family nearby.
She wanted to try.
I did not want to move.
She did not want long-distance indefinitely.
So one night, over dinner, we discussed it.
No cheating.
No falling out of love.
No dramatic betrayal.
No great heartbreak.
Just—
two current lives heading in different directions.
She asked—
"Would you hate me if I go?"
"No."
"Would you come?"
"No."
She nodded.
"Then."
"Yeah."
Sad.
Of course.
But not devastating.
No capital expenditure followed.
Extremely important.
We stayed together until she left.
No pretending.
No dramatic countdown either.
On her last night at my condo, she looked at my toothbrush.
Then at me.
"You better keep flossing."
"This breakup has become controlling."
"I'm serious."
"I know."
She smiled.
I did too.
Then she kissed me.
Goodbye.
That was it.
I missed her.
For a while.
Then less.
We messaged occasionally.
She built a life somewhere else.
I kept mine.
No villain.
No lesson requiring emotional bloodshed.
Sometimes a relationship could just be a good part of a life and then stop.
Apparently.
Nice.
Jane asked me three months later—
"You okay?"
"Yes."
"Actually?"
"Yes."
"Heartbreak printer?"
"No."
She laughed.
"Good."
"I bought equipment last month."
Her expression changed.
"For heartbreak?"
"Capacity."
She narrowed her eyes.