The days that followed were not dramatic. They were deliberate.
Richard asked Wendy to clear his schedule for the week. However, it was not for time off. He started working early and carrying on till late in his home office. This was work that required solitude. The kind that needed space to think several moves ahead, to let possibilities unfold without interruption. He did not speak to anyone about it yet. Not Wendy. Not the board. Not even the people it would involve or affect.
Not until he was ready.
He had always worked this way.
Methodical. Thorough. Patient.
He planned for the unexpected as instinctively as other people planned for the obvious. He thought in years, not quarters. When Hale & Partners had grown quickly in its early days, it was because Richard had never been satisfied with reacting to the market. He stayed ahead of it. Anticipated shifts before they became trends. Built safety nets before they were needed.
That approach had never failed him in twenty two years.
And it wouldn't now.
He had several documents spread across his desk — financial projections, organisational charts, succession frameworks. He reworked them again and again, testing each version for weakness. He asked himself the hard questions before anyone else could.
What happens if I'm unavailable for a month?
What if a major client leaves unexpectedly?
What if leadership fractures without my presence?
Even if the answers were uncomfortable, they were clarifying.
He would be taking a step back, not stepping away.
That distinction mattered more than he realised at first. Even to himself.
Richard would remain Chair of the Board. He would still hold the majority shareholding. He would retain final authority on strategic decisions, acquisitions, partnerships, long-term vision. Hale & Partners would still, unmistakably, be his.
But the shape of his involvement would change.
He would step back from the constant management. The day-to-day operational churn that demanded attention, but rarely required insight. He would stop being the gate through which every decision passed.
Instead, he would appoint a Chief Operating Officer.
Not a symbolic role. Not a figurehead. A genuine second-in-command. Someone he could trust with his life's work.
He drafted the role carefully.
The COO would oversee all daily operations. They would manage department heads directly. Budgets, timelines, performance metrics would fall under their remit. They would be accountable to Richard — but empowered to act independently.
Trust would be built into the structure, not granted reluctantly.
Richard paused more than once while writing that section. He understood, better than most, how difficult true delegation could be. Control was easy to disguise as responsibility. He had done it himself for years.
But this was different. This was intentional.
He reviewed internal possibilities first — people he had mentored, trusted, watched grow. Some were close. Very close. But he needed the right balance of competence and temperament.
This role would require authority without ego. Confidence without recklessness. Someone who understood that reporting to Richard did not mean waiting for permission.
By the third day, the framework felt solid. Coherent. Defensible.
Only then did his thoughts turn fully to the second task.
He opened a new document, the cursor blinking patiently at the top of the page.
The venture had begun as something small. Almost fragile. An idea Isabelle had built quietly, fuelled by conviction rather than ambition. Richard had supported it because he believed in it — but also because he believed in her.
Now, it had outgrown its original constraints.
The demand was overwhelming. The need was undeniable. And Isabelle, even with a young baby and exhaustion she would never admit to, was more capable than ever.
Richard did not frame the proposal as an acquisition.
Nor sponsorship.
This would be a partnership.
Never Settle would come under the Hale & Partners umbrella while retaining autonomy. Isabelle would remain at its head. Its mission would be protected, not diluted.
What Hale & Partners would provide was infrastructure. Funding. Reach. Credibility. The kind of backing that allowed ideas to scale without losing their integrity.
He mapped out the expansion carefully.
Mentorship programmes for young professionals. Support frameworks for women returning to work. Leadership development pathways that did not quietly narrow after motherhood, age, or circumstances.
In return, Hale & Partners would publicly align itself with Never Settle's values — not as a marketing exercise, but as a statement of intent. It would influence hiring, promotion, internal culture. It would be visible. Authentic. It would set an example for other corporations to take steps towards bridging the gap between the genders.
Richard sat back once the proposal was complete, reading it through slowly. This was not charity. It was alignment.
And perhaps — he acknowledged quietly — it was legacy. An admirable step which would be echoed by others, thus changing the corporate landscape for the next generation.
He saved the document and checked the time. Late afternoon. The light outside his study had faded, the city settling into evening.
This conversation deserved care.
He reached for his phone and called Robert.
Robert answered on the third ring. "Everything alright?"
"Yes," Richard said. "I need to arrange a meeting. Work-related. I'll need Isabelle to join as well."
There was a brief pause.
"Is something wrong?" Robert asked. "PR issue? Something you want me to manage?"
"No," Richard replied calmly. "Nothing like that. I'd just rather explain it properly."
Another pause. Then a softer tone.
"Alright. You've got my attention. When?"
"Tomorrow morning," Richard said. "If that suits. We can meet online."
"I'll make it work," Robert replied. "I'll let Isabelle know."
After the call ended, Richard remained still for a moment, phone resting in his hand. This would be a pivotal conversation — not just professionally, but personally. He trusted both of them. That's what mattered.
That evening, the house was quiet.
Chloe was out with friends. Drew was upstairs, playing a game, his door ajar. Richard paused briefly outside his son's room, listening to the muffled sound, then went back down.
Later, sitting alone in the living room, his phone lit up.
A message from Helene.
Don't forget to rest your mind sometimes. Even clever men need to pause.
He smiled.
I'm learning to pause, he typed back. Slowly. But I am learning.
Her reply came quickly.
Good. I like that for you.
Richard set the phone down and leaned back, letting the quiet settle around him.
Tomorrow would bring explanations. Reactions. Change.
But tonight, the plan was complete.
He wasn't dismantling anything.
He was building — more carefully than ever.
The future did not feel like something to outrun or brace against.
It felt deliberate.
Planned.
Chosen.
And very much his own.