The moment we entered the hallway, Gavin came toward me.
His voice was low, but disbelief had replaced his earlier calm.
“What have you done?”
“I brought the truth into the room.”
Sloane stepped beside him.
“Gavin, what does she mean by seventy-four percent?”
He did not answer.
That silence told her more than I ever could.
Fifteen years earlier, Rourke Regional Mobility had not been a company with hundreds of employees and contracts across four states.
It had been one used shuttle van, a folding desk in our apartment, and a stack of unpaid invoices.
Gavin had ambition, charm, and an extraordinary ability to persuade people to believe in him. What he did not have was money, credit, administrative experience, or patience for the details that kept a company alive.
I had those things.
My aunt had left me a small townhouse in Silver Spring and a modest investment account. I sold the property, withdrew the funds, and invested nearly everything in the business Gavin and I planned together.
I prepared the first business registration.
I negotiated the first vehicle lease.
I arranged insurance, processed permits, created payroll records, and tracked every payment after midnight while Gavin drove airport routes before sunrise.
I kept my job in medical administration for two additional years because my salary covered our household expenses while the business grew.
Gavin called it our company then.
After the twins were born, I reduced my role. Nolan needed physical therapy for nearly a year, and Parker had recurring breathing issues that required frequent appointments.
