“What’s this?”
Harvey looked toward me.
“I want to sell the business.”
I nodded slowly.
“All right.”
Then he continued.
“To you.”
For several seconds, I couldn’t speak.
I had spent years imagining what it might feel like to own a company.
But imagining something and seeing the documents on a desk are very different experiences.
“Harvey, I don’t have that kind of money.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
Then he explained his plan.
A reasonable down payment from my savings.
A business loan.
And a seller-financing arrangement paid from future earnings.
We reviewed everything with an attorney and accountant.
I insisted on a fair valuation.
Harvey offered generous terms, but I didn’t want him giving away the business he’d spent decades building.
Finally, we reached an agreement.
I purchased Hagadorn Electric.
Harvey remained as an adviser.
Arla stayed in charge of the office.
Kirby continued leading field crews.
And I became responsible for making sure everyone received a paycheck.
For the first time, I understood why Harvey had spent so many nights studying invoices after the crews went home.
Owning a business wasn’t simply having your name on the paperwork.
It meant being responsible for everyone who depended on the work.
I took that seriously.
Then an opportunity arrived.
A large data-center construction project south of Des Moines needed qualified electrical subcontractors.
The general contractor was assembling teams for several phases of the project.
We submitted a proposal.
Harvey reviewed my numbers.
Arla checked the labor estimates.
Kirby studied the technical requirements.
Then we sent it.
When the contract was awarded, I read the acceptance letter three times.
It wasn’t enough to make us wealthy overnight.
But it was enough to expand carefully.
We hired experienced electricians.
Brought in additional apprentices.
Invested in equipment.
And built a stronger scheduling system.
Other commercial work followed.
Within a year, the company had eighteen licensed electricians, four apprentices, and enough projects to justify expanding the office.
I was exhausted.
Proud.
And more aware than ever of how much I owed the people who’d helped me.
Then three applications arrived in my inbox.
Justin Whitaker.
Caitlin Whitaker.
Alexis Whitaker.
For a moment, I thought somebody was playing a joke.
I opened the first resume.
Justin had spent years working in software development for a major insurance company.
His experience was impressive.
But there was a long gap after his last position.
Caitlin had worked in a technology role for a firm near Cedar Rapids.
Her employment had ended after a restructuring.
Alexis had recently graduated with a computer science degree.
She’d sent out dozens of applications without finding a position.
All three wanted office roles at Hagadorn Electric.
We had advertised for an estimator and a project coordinator.
The positions required practical knowledge of construction work, scheduling, materials, and jobsite operations.
Computer skills were useful.
But they weren’t enough by themselves.
I sat staring at the resumes.
Then Harvey walked in.
He noticed my expression.
“Something wrong?”
I turned the monitor toward him.
He put on his reading glasses.
Then read the names.
For a moment, he became completely still.
“Well.”
I nodded.
“Yeah.”
He leaned back.
“Do they know it’s your company?”
I shook my head.
“Apparently not.”
Harvey considered that.
Then asked.
“What are you going to do?”
I stared toward the office window.
For seven years, I’d imagined a hundred different conversations with my father.
Angry ones.
Quiet ones.
Conversations where I explained how much he’d hurt me.
Others where I simply walked away.
Now my siblings were applying for jobs.
And I had to decide whether their last name would affect how I treated them.
Finally, I said something Harvey had taught me years earlier.
“Work’s work.”
He smiled.
“That’s my boy.”
We arranged interviews.
Arla sent the same invitation each qualified applicant received.
A date.
A time.
And a request to arrive prepared to discuss the available positions.
All three accepted.
Then Arla received a phone call.
A man identifying himself as the father of three applicants wanted to attend the interview.
He said his children had advanced degrees and deserved to be considered for management-track opportunities.
Arla looked toward me.
“Sounded like a professor.”
I almost laughed.
“He is.”
She watched me.
Then smiled.
“Should I make the good coffee?”
I nodded.
“Please.”
That was how Dad ended up standing in my parking lot, looking at my work boots and asking me to get my boss.
I walked down the hallway to Harvey’s office.
He was sitting at his desk working on a crossword puzzle.
I leaned against the doorframe.
“My father wants to meet the owner.”
Harvey looked up.
For a moment, his expression didn’t change.
Then a slow grin appeared.
“Does he now?”
I nodded.
“He says my siblings need management jobs.”
Harvey took off his reading glasses.
Then stood.
His knees complained, as usual.
He reached for his old work jacket.
“Well, Nolan, I suppose we shouldn’t keep him waiting.”
We walked outside together.
Dad recognized Harvey immediately.
His expression brightened.
“Mr. Hagadorn!”
Harvey shook his hand.
“Martin. Been a long time.”
Dad smiled.
“You rewired our house years ago.”
“I remember.”
Dad gestured toward my siblings.