Chapter 3 - Monday Morning
Monday morning came too fast.
I got up at five-thirty, like I always do. I made Jake's nebulizer treatment — his asthma had been flaring with the October air — packed both kids' lunches, and signed Lily's field trip permission slip. By seven, they were fed, dressed, and arguing over who got the blue toothbrush.
Claire came down at seven-fifteen, already in her suit, her phone glued to her ear. She grabbed a banana, kissed each kid on the top of the head, and was out the door by seven-twenty-five. She didn't look at me.
I dropped the kids at school by eight. Then I drove to the office — the real office, the one in South End with COLE & ASSOCIATES on the glass door. I went in through the parking garage, took the elevator to the fifth floor, and let myself into my corner office with my keycard.
Most of my employees had never met me.
That wasn't an exaggeration. When we hit fifty employees two years ago, Marcus and I agreed that I'd step back from day-to-day. I'd had a mild heart thing — nothing serious, but enough to make me re-evaluate. Claire was up for partner at her firm. Jake was a toddler. Lily was starting school. We decided, together, that I'd be the flexible parent. I'd run the company from home four days a week. Marcus would run the office.
It worked. The company grew. The kids had a parent at every pickup, every recital, every fever. But it also meant that to most of Charlotte, Dan Cole was either a mystery or a myth. And to Richard Voss, I was the guy in the basketball shirt flipping burgers.
Sarah from HR knocked at nine. "Dan? Marcus said you wanted the Voss file?"
She came in and set a folder on my desk. She was new — six months in — and she clearly had no idea who I was. She'd been told I was a "consultant." I let her believe it.
"Thanks, Sarah." I opened the folder. "Walk me through the interview schedule."
"First round is Thursday with Marcus and the committee. If he passes, second round would be with — well, normally with the CEO, but since you're consulting, we thought you could sit in on the first round and give us your read."
"That works," I said. "One more thing. Has anyone called his current employer for a reference yet?"
"Not yet. We usually wait until after the first interview."
"Good. When you do — call Diane Palmer. Not Richard. And make sure you ask the right questions."
She looked at me, confused, but nodded and left.
I spent the rest of the morning reading Richard's file. His resume was good — genuinely good. The deals were real. I checked three of them in our database. He'd closed the SouthEnd Yards project, the Meridian Hotel renovation, the University City expansion. These were legitimate.
But there was a pattern. Every big deal in the last four years listed a marketing director. A name appeared in the fine print of the deal teams, over and over.
Claire Bennett.
My wife.
She'd been the marketing lead on every single one of Richard's "signature" deals since 2022. I knew she was good — I'd read her campaign decks, I'd seen the award certificates on her desk. But I hadn't realized she was on every deal.
I picked up my phone and texted her: Lunch?
She texted back ten minutes later: Can't. Richard called an all-hands. Sorry.
I set the phone down. I looked at the resume. I looked at the deal list. And I started to wonder whether Richard Voss had built his career — or whether my wife had built it for him.
At noon, my phone buzzed. It was Claire.
"Dan," she said, and her voice was tight. "He just announced it. Richard is leaving the firm. He said he's 'pursuing other opportunities.' Diane didn't even look at him. Everyone knows he was pushed. Dan — he's gone. As of Friday."
I sat very still. "What does that mean for you?"
"I don't know. The promotion — it might be on hold. Or Diane might give it to me now that he's gone. I don't know. I just — I needed to tell someone."
"I'm glad you told me," I said. "Claire — when he leaves, are you going to be OK?"
"I think so. Diane and I have always gotten along. It's just — weird. He was there for twenty-eight years. And they walked him out like he was nothing."
I thought about the man on my deck, telling me I was nothing. I didn't feel much sympathy. But I felt something — a cold, clear certainty that Thursday was going to be very interesting.
"Claire," I said. "Whatever happens with the job, we're fine. You know that, right?"
"I know," she said. But she didn't sound like she believed it.
After we hung up, I called Marcus.
"Change of plans," I said. "Richard just got pushed out. He's going to be desperate. Thursday's interview just got a lot more important."
"Dan," Marcus said, "I need you to be honest with me. What are you doing?"
I looked out my office window at the Charlotte skyline. "I'm going to find out if the man who called me a bum is actually any good at his job. And if he's not — I'm going to find out who's been doing it for him."
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