David
Five years ago.
I sit at my desk, flipping through a stack of files that seem to grow taller every day. The hum of my office is steady—keyboards clacking outside the door, the occasional muffled ring of a phone. It’s a familiar rhythm, one I’ve lived with for decades. Being back as CEO of Marcher Industries wasn’t part of the plan, but plans change.
I glance at the top file and sigh. Meghan. Just the thought of her name makes my jaw tighten. My runaway bride of a daughter. She didn’t just leave her groom standing at the altar; she left the entire company in chaos. No warning, no explanation. Just gone. It’s been fourteen months since then, but it still feels like yesterday.
My fingers drum against the desk as anger simmers beneath the surface. I force myself to focus on the num
