The summer after the coastal deal was the busiest Clara had ever seen. Wagons rolled through the towns from dawn until the lamps were lit. Markets overflowed with grain, salt, fabric, and oil. The smell of soap and bread filled the air. People called that year the Season of Plenty.

Inside the main shop, clerks worked from sunrise to night. Coins filled the boxes faster than Clara could count. The ledgers grew thick, their pages stained by ink and sweat. For the first time she felt the weight of success pressing on her shoulders. Growth was no longer a dream; it was a tide that needed steering.

Mary managed the valley store and trained new clerks. Thomas handled routes and wagons. Clara tried to oversee everything, but the scale had changed. The chain now reached ten towns, each sending reports, requests, and questions. She stayed awake long after others slept, reading pages by candlelight.

One evening she found a letter from the Oakfield branch. The numbers were strange. Sales were high, yet profits low. Clara rode there the next morning and met the manager, a young man named Allen. He smiled too easily and avoided her eyes.

She asked about the missing money. He shrugged. “Small errors, Miss Benton. We’ll fix them next month.” Clara said nothing at first. Then she looked at his shelves. Half the goods were from outside traders, not from the chain. “You’re selling for others,” she said quietly. “You use our name but break our code.”

Allen’s smile vanished. “People want variety,” he said. “I only gave them more choice.”

Clara stared at him, calm but firm. “Choice built on lies is no choice at all.” She dismissed him that day. The next morning she wrote a new rule in the Market Code: Every store carries only what the chain can stand behind.

The incident spread quickly. Some called her strict; others called her fair. But she knew that one weak link could break the whole chain. She began visiting each branch unannounced, checking ledgers, talking to workers, and reminding them why Benton’s Market existed.

Still, doubt crept in. Success brought envy, even among her own people. A few managers whispered that she demanded too much control. Thomas noticed her silence one night and said, “You can’t guard every door yourself. Trust those who’ve proven worthy.” Clara nodded but found the words heavy.

The next morning she watched customers filling the yard. They laughed, traded stories, and shared tea. She realized they were the reason the market lived. Not the buildings, not the ledgers, but the people who believed in fairness. She took a deep breath and felt calm again.

Before bed, she wrote in her book. Prosperity tests the heart more than poverty does. Success must serve, not rule.

She placed the pen down and let the candle burn low. Outside, wagons rolled through the night carrying her mark—the small green sprout that had begun from one bar of soap and one promise.