Maybe not.
No need.
Kiara’s life took another path.
She became permanent employee after transparent conversion process.
Then quality technician.
Then team lead.
At thirty-six, she was promoted to supervisor.
The first day, she called Naomi unexpectedly.
By then Naomi retired.
“Ms. Carter?”
“Naomi.”
“I’m supervisor.”
Naomi smiled.
“Congratulations.”
“I’m scared.”
“Good.”
“Why everybody says good when I’m scared?”
“Means you understand power can hurt.”
Kiara laughed.
“I need advice.”
“No.”
“What?”
“You have plant manager.”
“HR.”
“Training.”
“Use them.”
Kiara sounded disappointed.
Naomi continued:
“You don’t need retired CEO in your ear.”
“But I wanted one thing.”
“What?”
“How do I keep people from thinking I’m soft because I don’t yell?”
Naomi thought.
“Be clear.”
“Consistency feels harder than yelling after a while.”
“Document.”
“Follow through.”
“Don’t threaten things you won’t do.”
“And if you assign toilet cleaning?”
Kiara laughed loudly.
“Never.”
Naomi corrected:
“If role legitimately requires cleaning, do not make people think cleaning is beneath them either.”
“Right.”
“See?”
“Already complicated.”
“Leadership.”
Kiara became good supervisor.
Not perfect.
Once HR substantiated complaint she favored a friend for overtime.
Kiara apologized.
Schedule rules tightened.
Growth.
No hero immunity.
At seventy-five, Naomi suffered mild stroke.
Recovered mostly.
Right hand weaker.
Adrian helped with buttons.
She hated.
Then accepted.
One evening she struggled opening jar.
Adrian reached.
“I can.”
She glared.
“Didn’t say you couldn’t.”
“You looked.”
“I have eyes.”
She surrendered jar.
Aging made authority irrelevant quickly.
No CEO title helps grip strength.
Naomi found that humbling.
Adrian died first.
Seventy-nine.
Cancer.
Three-year illness.
Naomi became caregiver.
She tried turning treatment into project.
He stopped.
“I need wife.”
Not CEO.
She remembered Malcolm? No. Herself. She smiled.
“I know.”
Adrian said:
“You say that too much.”
Family phrase.