Noah POV

Three hours after I tell my father I'm leaving, he calls me into his office.

"The pharmaceutical union is threatening to strike." His voice is tired. "You need to handle it."

I stare at him. "I'm leaving tonight—"

"This is your responsibility, Noah. You've been managing labor relations for two years. They trust you."

The words land exactly where he intends them. Right in my sense of duty.

'Damn it.'

I drive to the plant. Spend six hours ...