Chapter 10 - Building on Solid Ground
Wade sat at the corner table of the steakhouse terrace, looking out over the manicured trees of the plaza while the spring breeze carried the scent of blooming magnolia.
""Everything alright?"" Clara asked gently, setting down her sparkling water and studying his face with those sharp, observant eyes that made her such a brilliant attorney.
Wade smiled, reaching across the white linen tablecloth to lightly touch the back of her hand.
""Never better,"" he said. And for the first time in six years, he meant it with every fiber of his being.
That morning, before driving to Easton, Wade had signed the final closing documents on forty-two rolling acres of timber and pasture land in Granville, just twenty minutes east of his new development facility. On that land sat a restored 1920s stone farmhouse with a wrap-around cedar porch, a massive detached workshop with thirty-foot ceilings and radiant heated floors, and a private three-acre pond stocked with bass.
He had bought it outright. No predatory loans, no co-signers, no frantic budget spreadsheets hidden in desk drawers.
In the back of his truck, the golden retriever—a rambunctious, four-month-old pup named Copper whom Wade had adopted from a rescue shelter two months prior—barked happily at a passing sparrow. Clara turned and laughed, watching the dog’s tail thump rhythmically against the truck's bed liner.
""He's going to tear through your workshop the second you let him loose out in Granville,"" Clara warned, her eyes crinkling with genuine warmth.
""That’s the point,"" Wade replied softly. ""Things are supposed to be lived in.""
They finished their lunch in easy, comfortable conversation, talking about the new patent applications Hollister Dynamics was filing in Germany and Clara's upcoming pro-bono initiative for independent inventors in the Midwest. There were no games, no hidden agendas, and no desperate maneuvers for status. They were two capable, self-respecting adults who respected the work, honored their word, and built each other up without keeping score.
At 3:30 p.m., Wade drove east out of Columbus, leaving the glass skyscrapers and corporate granite behind in his rearview mirror.
The highway opened up into the rolling green hills of central Ohio. The afternoon sun broke through the scattered white clouds, painting the newly plowed fields in warm shades of gold and amber. Copper rested his chin on the center console, letting the warm spring wind ruffle his golden fur through the cracked window.
Wade turned off the state route onto a gravel lane lined with towering oak trees. The stones crunched satisfyingly beneath the heavy tires of the truck.
At the end of the lane stood the stone house.
Beside the wide, gravel driveway sat a brand-new, nineteen-foot aluminum bass boat with a pristine four-stroke engine, gleaming under the afternoon sky. It wasn't there to show off to the neighbors. It was there because on Saturday mornings, Wade intended to take it out onto the water, cast a line into the quiet mist, and listen to nothing but the wind in the reeds.
May you like
He stepped out of the truck, unclipped Copper's leash, and watched the dog tear across the open grass toward the pond with unbridled joy.
Wade stood by the front porch steps, taking a deep breath of the clean, country air. He pulled his phone from his pocket, looked at the lock screen for a moment, and then powered it down completely. He slid it onto the porch table, walked down the sloping lawn toward the water, and never looked back."
