Chapter 13 - The Workshop on Mercer Street
Without Weston in the building, Ashford Living changed its rhythm. Meetings became slower, decisions became cautious, and people who had once spoken in whispers began using full sentences.
The interim chair offered Naomi her position back with a new salary and a promise of creative independence.
“What does independence mean?” Naomi asked.
“You report to the product committee.”
“Who sits on it?”
“Harold, Judith, and two investors.”
“Then it means nothing.”
She declined.
Priya quit two days later. Theo followed the next week. Celeste stayed long enough to help them find a small workshop on Mercer Street, then arrived with three sewing machines and a truck full of reclaimed material.
“You stole company equipment,” Naomi said.
“I borrowed it with an intention to return it after we become successful.”
“That is stealing.”
“Then call it a moral loan.”
They named the new studio Calvert Works. Naomi used her savings, Priya contributed marketing expertise, Theo negotiated with suppliers, and Celeste invested the money she had been saving for a cruise she no longer wanted to take.
“We need a business plan,” Priya said.
“We need a product,” Naomi replied.
“We need both.”
They spent three weeks developing a line of modular home pieces that could be repaired by local craftspeople. The designs were not dependent on Ashford’s factories or brand name. Naomi wanted them to stand on their own.
Weston visited once, carrying coffee and looking uncomfortable in a plain sweater.
“You look less expensive,” Naomi said.
“I am trying a new identity.”
“How is unemployment?”
“The hours are flexible.”
He set the coffee down. “The audit has been referred to the state attorney’s office. Marcus’s attorneys are trying to claim that Victor authorized everything.”
“Did he?”
“He authorized some transfers. Not the forged invoices or the threats.”
“And Celia?”
“She is cooperating.”
“Are you?”
“I gave them every record I had.”
Naomi nodded. “Good.”
He looked around the workshop. “You built this quickly.”
“We had practice.”
“I meant it as a compliment.”
“I know.”
The silence between them felt different outside the Ashford building. There were no executives nearby, no cameras, and no reason for Naomi to pretend that his presence did not affect her.
“I missed you,” Weston said.
She kept her attention on a box of screws. “That is inconvenient.”
“Very.”
“You resigned.”
“I did.”
“You lost control.”
“I did.”
“You may lose your inheritance.”
“I may.”
“And you came here to tell me you missed me?”
“I came to see whether you would let me buy a lamp.”
“You cannot buy one.”
“Why?”
“Because you would overpay.”
“I can pay the listed price.”
“You would still be the former owner of Ashford Living.”
“Former owners are allowed to own lamps.”
“Not ours.”
He smiled. “Then what am I allowed to do?”
Naomi looked at him. “You can help us find a lawyer who understands worker-owned companies.”
“I know three.”
“You can introduce us without making decisions.”
“I can do that.”
“You can leave when we ask.”
“That may be difficult.”
“Learn.”
Weston nodded. “May I stay for lunch?”
“You can wash the mugs.”
He washed the mugs.
That evening, Naomi found an envelope beneath the workshop door. Inside was a letter from Daniel Calvert, postmarked from a town in Ohio. The letter was addressed to Lena but never delivered.
I am alive. I did not leave because I stopped loving you. I left because the people who accused me promised they would make Naomi disappear from school and take Eli away if I spoke. I found proof, but I could not find a safe way home. I am sorry for every year that passed.
The letter contained a phone number and no explanation for why it had arrived now.
Lena read it twice and pressed it to her chest.
“Do you want to call him?” Naomi asked.
“I have wanted to call him for fifteen years.”
“Then call.”
Her mother’s hand shook as she dialed. The call went to voicemail. Lena said nothing after the tone. She only sat at the kitchen table, staring at the phone.
The next morning, the number called back.
Daniel’s voice was older, rougher, and unmistakably familiar.
“Lena?”
Naomi stood beside her mother. Lena looked at her, and Naomi nodded.
“It’s me,” Lena said.
There was a long silence on the line.
“I should have come home,” Daniel said.
“Yes,” Lena replied.
“I was afraid.”
“So was I.”
May you like
Naomi listened as her parents began a conversation fifteen years late. She felt grief, anger, and relief arrive together.
Across town, Weston was learning how to live without a company. On Mercer Street, Naomi was learning that freedom could be built from scraps, provided enough people were willing to hold the pieces steady.
