“So, what is this?” she asks. “Damage control?”
“No,” I say immediately. “It is removal. I am pulling myself out completely. I do not get to restructure it. I do not get to salvage anything. I do not get to touch your business ever again unless you ask me to.”
I press my forehead harder into the glass.
“I do not get to fix this.”
She exhales, slow and sharp.
“And Rex?” she asks.
“I will deal with Rex.”
There it is.
The anger.
“That is exactly what scares me, Leo.”
“I will not deal with him by making decisions for you,” I say. “I will not speak for you. I will not negotiate your future. I will take the hit. Publicly. Legally. Financially. Whatever it costs.”
Another pause.
“You do not get points for doing the bare minimum,” she says.
“I know,” I say softly. “I am not asking for points.”
Silence again.
“I don’t trust you,” she says. It is not dramatic. It is not cruel. It is a fact.
“I know.”
“I don’t know if I ever will.”
I close my eyes. “I understand.”
“And I don’t know what happens next,” she adds.
“That is ok,” I say. “You don’t owe me clarity.”
Another breath.
“If Rex comes after me…”
“He won’t,” I say, firmer now. “Not without going through me first.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“I know.”
The line stays quiet for a long moment.
Then, “Don’t come to the bakery.”
“I won’t.”
“This doesn’t fix what you did.”
