Angela froze. “I—I’m not prepared. I’m still in my uniform—”
Thomas cut in, shaking his head. “Preparedness isn’t about clothes. It’s about substance. And from what we saw through your daughter, you have plenty of that.”
Tears welled in Angela’s eyes when she looked down at Clara, who beamed with pride.
Less than an hour later, Angela found herself seated in the same oversized leather chair her daughter had occupied earlier. The interview was anything but traditional, focused instead on real-world, practical scenarios. Angela responded with the kind of clarity that only comes from lived experience—managing a tight household budget, supporting neighbors in keeping their small businesses afloat, and spotting order in the midst of disorder. She didn’t speak in polished corporate jargon, but her honesty and natural problem-solving abilities set her apart.
By the end, Richard exchanged a glance with his colleagues and nodded. “Mrs. Wilson, we’d like to offer you the position.”
Angela’s hands flew to her mouth. Clara squeezed her arm, whispering, “I knew you could do it.”
