Chloe found him in the kitchen just as he was pouring the last of the morning coffee into a travel mug.
"Dad," she said, breathless, cheeks flushed. "I got it."
He turned. "Got what?"
"My placement. The human rights charity; the one I told you about last month? They emailed this morning. They want me for the internship."
For a moment Richard just stared, pride rising so sharply it tightened his throat. "Chloe, that's incredible."
She tried for a shrug, but her smile kept breaking through. "Yeah. I... I really wanted it."
He pulled her into a hug before he could think. She smelled faintly of shampoo and determination, the way she always did when she'd fought hard for something. When she stepped back, her eyes shone.
"I knew you would get it," he said warmly.
But even as pride spread through him, another memory pushed in; unwelcome, sharp. Another young woman. Another job. A version of himself who still hadn't learned to set boundaries.
He thought back to when Sienna Marks appeared at Hale & Partners.
He hadn't met her. Hadn't interviewed her. Hadn't even realised she'd been hired until Isabelle came to him, steady, professional, clearly distressed, reporting files missing, emails redirected, work mysteriously undone. Sabotage dressed up as incompetence.
He remembered the hurt in her voice when she'd said, almost apologetically, "I don't want to complain, but something isn't right."
And once Sienna was dismissed, her personnel file had told the rest:
a recommendation from Eleanor,
a note from HR stating Richard Hale had 'approved' the hire,
and a CV that never should have passed screening.
His stomach had dropped.
Because he knew, deep down, that he should have shut Eleanor down the moment she mentioned her "friend's daughter."
He remembered that period with painful clarity; the months when Eleanor's quiet resentment toward Isabelle curled into their home like smoke. He'd brushed it off as insecurity. He'd been wrong.
It had begun with small comments.
"She seems very… present," Eleanor said once as he worked after dinner.
"I'm surprised you rely on her so much," she murmured when his phone buzzed with a text from Isabelle answering a query he had given her.
"Don't you think you praise her a bit excessively?" she asked another night, stirring her tea with clipped precision.
He hadn't thought anything of it. Isabelle was exceptional. Of course he praised her, she kept chaos at bay, caught mistakes before clients ever saw them, made his job easier. Any CEO would sing her praises.
But to Eleanor, his respect for Isabelle meant something else entirely.
He began noticing the way she tensed when he mentioned Isabelle's name, or how she leaned back with folded arms when he talked about a week going smoothly because of her. The polite smiles that didn't touch her eyes.
He should have realised.
And the truth was, he had never looked at Isabelle with anything but familial affection. She was younger, but not so young that she felt like a child; just young enough that he felt protective of her. He admired her strength. Respected how she balanced a family and a demanding job without ever letting one affect the other. She carried her life with quiet dignity.
He admired that. Who wouldn't?
But admiration was all it took for Eleanor to feel threatened.
He remembered the night everything shifted. He was tapping away at his laptop, while Eleanor scrolled through her phone with a tight mouth, before saying abruptly:
"You talk about her as though she's irreplaceable."
He'd blinked. "Well… she is. In her role, she is."
"Mm." Her nails clicked against her wine glass. "People like that can become dangerous. They make themselves indispensable. Then they have too much power. Too much proximity."
He'd laughed; truly baffled. "Eleanor, she's my assistant, not a Bond villain."
But Eleanor hadn't laughed. She'd snapped her phone shut.
"I just think you should rely on someone less… intertwined with you."
Intertwined. The word still chilled him; so misplaced, so unfair.
He tried to explain, again, that Isabelle was simply excellent at her job, that their relationship was entirely professional, that she barely mentioned her own life. That he only saw her as an employee, a good one. But Eleanor's expression had stayed stiff, unreadable.
And the next evening she brought up Sienna.
As though the decision had already been made.
As though Isabelle were the problem.
He'd assumed it was Eleanor's usual complaining. Thought he could nod, deflect, maintain the peace.
He underestimated her.
He underestimated how far she would go to remove a woman who had done nothing except excel.
That still stung.
He remembered, too, how long Isabelle had been with him; two and a half years. Polished. Efficient. Invisible when she needed to be, indispensable at all times. Quiet machinery keeping the company running smoothly.
Jane in HR had once mentioned, gently, that Isabelle was a single mother with two very young children. It had only deepened his respect. He'd praised her at home without realising how it sounded, without noticing Eleanor's tightening jaw.
That evening Eleanor said, without preamble:
"You gave that single mother a job out of compassion. Surely you can help a friend's daughter."
Heat had flared behind his eyes.
"I didn't hire Isabelle," he'd said. "HR did. She earned her position."
But Eleanor had only smiled thinly.
"Well then, I'll just speak to Jane myself."
He should have stopped her.
Should have said no; clearly, definitively.
Instead, he let the moment pass.
And Eleanor did exactly as she promised, spoke to Jane, implied Richard's approval, arranged an interview "for show," and within two weeks Sienna was hired.
By the time he learned about that, it was too late.
He didn't tell Isabelle. Or Jane.
Shame still sat heavy in his chest.
When he finally confronted Eleanor; after Isabelle uncovered Sienna's sabotage and the truth left him with nowhere else to look, Eleanor confessed it all with a calm, unblinking ease.
"I did it to protect us. I can't stand how you talk about Isabelle. The way your face lights up when you mention her."
He'd stared at her in disbelief. "Eleanor… she's my assistant. She's practically family. And I would never betray you; I'm not that man. The idea of anything happening with an employee feels wrong to the bone. I have more self-respect than that."
But Eleanor didn't believe that. She never would.
He'd told her to get to know Isabelle. To see for herself.
And so Eleanor demanded she plan the Christmas party. Then the next one. Then Richard's fiftieth.
And Isabelle, steady, selfless, never complaining, had done it all. Robert later told him she nearly fainted at the second Christmas party. The day before they had found out she was pregnant.
Richard still despised himself for letting it spiral so far. For letting Isabelle shoulder the weight of Eleanor's quiet campaigns; each request sharpened to a demand, each demand wrapped in the kind of smiling pressure that left no room to breathe. He could only imagine how many fires Eleanor had set for Isabelle to deal with, how many tiny sabotages Isabelle had had to smooth over while still carrying herself with that calm, steady grace he relied on.
And then the newspapers had printed her name. Isabelle Cole, the brilliant organiser behind the dazzling Hale & Partners Christmas Gala. A full photograph, too, Isabelle caught mid-laugh beneath a string of winter lights, not Eleanor. The coverage had praised the event, praised the execution, praised Isabelle.
Eleanor had been livid.
"Dad?" Chloe's voice pulled him back.
He blinked, returning to the bright morning kitchen. She watched him with a small crease between her brows, waiting for something more than surprise.
Richard pulled her into another hug as he told her soft and sure. "Chloe, I'm so proud of you."
She let out a breath. "I didn't want to ask for your help. It would've been easier to use your connections, but…" She shrugged. "If people are going to take me seriously, I have to be honest. I can't rely on my Daddy's friends."
His throat tightened again; this time with warmth.
"You did this on your own," he said. "That makes it worth so much more." He kissed the top of her head and smoothed her hair away from her face.
She grinned, brightly. "Exactly."
She grabbed an apple, slung her bag over her shoulder, and headed for the door, pausing just before she left.
"Dad?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you, for believing in me."
He swallowed the emotion swelling in his chest. "Always."
The door clicked shut, leaving him with his coffee, his thoughts, and the steady certainty that his daughter was becoming someone remarkable, on her own terms.