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The screen went black. Her heart stopped. For half a second, nobody spoke.

Then the conference room screen flashed blue and displayed a message informing her that it could no longer detect her laptop.

Of course.

She had specifically imagined this possibility. Apparently, the screen had taken that as a request.

“Give us one moment,” Victoria said.

Claire reached for the cable, but Rachel spoke before she could fix it. “You said each location would have its own identity. How far would that go?”

Claire looked away from the blank screen.

Rachel continued. “We want the shops to feel connected, but I’m worried that customizing them too much could weaken the brand.”

It was a good question.

It was also answered on slide fourteen.

Claire could have asked everyone to wait while she restored the screen. She could have searched through the printed copies in front of them until she found the correct page.

Instead, she let go of the cable.

“The identity would come through in the details, not the foundation,” she explained. “The logo, core color palette, packaging, and service standards remain consistent. A customer should recognize Common Grounds immediately.”

She walked toward the table.

“But the community partnerships, featured menu items, and local artwork would reflect the neighborhood. We’re not creating four different brands. We’re giving one brand four opportunities to listen.”

Rachel nodded slowly. Claire continued without the slides.

She described the planned campaign for the location near Columbia, including a partnership with student organizations and a wall where customers could leave recommendations for books, music, and local events.

The downtown location would highlight nearby independent businesses.

Another would host rotating displays from local artists.

By the time Avery quietly restored the screen, Claire had answered three questions without looking at a single note.

She returned to the front of the room and glanced at the slide that had finally appeared.

It was no longer the one she needed.

For once, that did not matter. She knew the campaign.

More importantly, she believed in it.

Claire finished with an image of the original Common Grounds storefront.

“Expansion usually asks a business to become bigger,” she said. “This campaign allows Common Grounds to become more personal. Each new shop can offer the same promise as the first one: that no matter how large the city feels, there is a corner of it where someone knows your order.”

She thought of iced vanilla lattes appearing at her door. Of Noah remembering when she had not eaten. Of a golden retriever waiting in the hallway. Of being known. “That is what brings people back.”

Claire closed the presentation. For one terrible second, the room was silent.

Then Rachel smiled. “That’s exactly what I want.”

Claire released a breath.