Chapter 10 - The Legacy of the FloorTwo years later, the sustainable personal-care division of Hartwell Consumer Group was no longer just an experimental department.
It was the crown jewel of the entire conglomerate.
From her corner office on the thirty-eighty floor—the very suite that had once belonged to Vanessa Cross—Claire Bennett looked out over the sweeping, sunlit expanse of the Chicago skyline. On her desk sat a sleek, biodegradable cosmetic jar made from agricultural byproduct waste—the exact design she had sketched under a Berwyn desk lamp years ago, now mass-produced and sold in over forty countries worldwide.
Maya Lin was now the Vice President of Global Supply Chain, running a department of over two hundred people. Rose Bennett was healthy, vibrant, and living comfortably in a newly renovated home on Maple Street, frequently visiting downtown Chicago to share afternoon tea with an old friend she called "Tom."
There was a soft knock on her office door.
"Come in," Claire said, turning away from the window.
The heavy oak door swung open, and Arthur Hartwell stepped inside, holding a thick manila folder. Behind him walked an elderly man with a familiar faded brown coat, leaning on his wooden cane, though his stride was as steady as ever.
"Good morning, Director Bennett," Arthur said with a warm smile, placing the folder on her desk. "Quarterly global revenue reports just came in. We broke our previous record by eighteen percent."
Claire looked at the figures, shaking her head in amazement. "It’s hard to believe we started with a cardboard portfolio and a cracked pair of shoes."
"You didn't start with a portfolio, Claire," Thomas Hartwell said, walking slowly toward her desk and resting both hands on the top of his cane. He looked at her with the quiet, unyielding pride of a grandfather. "You started with a spine. And in this business, that's the only asset that never loses its value."
Claire smiled, stepping out from behind her desk to offer her arm to the old man.
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"Come on, Mr. Hartwell," Claire said gently. "Let's go down to the lobby. I hear there's a new batch of applicants waiting, and someone needs to make sure the doors are clear."
Thomas laughed, taking her arm, and together they walked toward the private elevator—ready for whatever walked through the revolving doors next.
