By the time Richard escorted Clara back downstairs, the story had spread. Employees clustered near the lobby, whispering about the girl in the yellow dress.
Just before noon, Angela Wilson burst through the doors, breathless in her diner apron. Panic filled her face until she spotted Clara beside Richard.
“Clara!” she cried, rushing forward. “What are you doing here? I thought you were at school!”
Richard stepped in. “Mrs. Wilson, I’m Richard Hale, COO. Your daughter gave us quite a presentation.”
Angela froze, mortified. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, she—”
“Don’t apologize,” Richard interrupted gently. “She spoke for you better than any résumé could.”
Clara clutched her mother’s hand. “Mom, I told them about budgets, about never giving up. They listened.”
Margaret and Thomas joined them. Margaret smiled. “Mrs. Wilson, you’ve clearly instilled discipline and knowledge in your daughter. We’d like to invite you for an official interview. Today, if you’re willing.”
Angela shook her head, flustered. “I—I’m not prepared. I’m still in my uniform—”
Thomas cut in. “Preparedness isn’t about clothes. It’s about substance. And from what we’ve seen through your daughter, you have plenty of that.”
Angela’s eyes brimmed with tears as Clara squeezed her arm. “I knew you could do it.”
