Page 1 of Deal Breaker
ONE
Ford
My gut knew it before my head did—this wasn’t going to be just another day at the office.
The morning started the same way they all do. Coffee at six. Run by six-thirty. Cold shower. Get dressed for the office: black joggers, black T-shirt, runners. I checked my inbox before I left the house, answered two emails, flagged one for the marketing team. On the road by 7:25 a.m. Organized, efficient, in control. Just like always.
I drove to work in silence, forest giving way to traffic as I entered the city center. The office rose ahead in the distance, all wood beams and glass, solid against the skyline.
Cove. The company I built from nothing.Every decision, every product line, every polished square inch of this company has my fingerprints on it. Built from the ground up with my brothers. Brick by meticulous brick. And now, it runs like a machine—efficient, effective, predictable.
Which is exactly how I like it.
But today, something felt different. Not bad, just…off. I pulled into my usual parking spot cut the engine, unable to shake the heavy feeling in my chest, a weight I couldn’t shift no matter how hard I gripped the wheel.
I’d felt this way once before. That sense that the ground had inexplicably tilted beneath my feet, that something was shifting even if I couldn’t see it yet. Back then, what came next hollowed me out, left me raw and reeling.
I forced my mind to stay in the present. This is a crucial time for the company, and Cove doesn’t run on pointless, sentimental walks down memory lane. It doesn’t work with me sitting paralyzed in the parking lot mulling over my feelings.
Cove runs on control.
I’m standing at the floor-to-ceiling window in my corner office, second cup of coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, watching as thetown of Deep Cove is just beginning to wake up. Morning fog curls over the tree line, softening the jagged peaks that surround us. The storefronts along Front Street glow warm and golden, old brick buildings housing artisan bakeries, unique boutiques, and a brewery that’s been here longer than I have. There’s money here, thanks in part to me and my brothers. But just beneath the surface, past the crowded patios and craft cocktails, it’s still the same small town where we grew up. Same stubborn people. Same clifftop that cuts through the place like a scar.
It’s quiet here. Tucked into the mountains two hours north of Vancouver, there’s enough beauty to lure in the developers and millionaires who want a piece of it. They come for the views, the adventure, the lifestyle. They stay because once you’ve been to Deep Cove, it’s very hard to leave.
I could see the changes starting to happen here—an uptick in tourists and the amenities that started popping up to cater to them—before they really took hold, and that’swhen the idea for Cove was born. Cove is more than a brand—it’s a way of life. A way to move through the world. Rugged but refined. Wild but curated. It’s adventure for the person who doesn’t mind spending a grand on a weekender bag so long as it’s made from ethically sourced leather and comes with the prestige of the label.
I built this company with sweat and grit. It was years of long nights, lost sleep, an impossible workload and no backup plan, but now we’re on every top 10 list in every single Canadian lifestyle magazine that used to pretend not to see us. We design upscale gear: apparel, boots, gear that works in the wild but looks good enough to wear in the boardroom.
It wasn’t supposed to work, but my brothers and I made it happen.
I turn back to the conference table in the center of our wide-open workspace, where images of our new Sierra line are spread across the polished oak surface. Technical outerwear with a luxe finish. Alpine-grade jackets with water-resistant seams designed with clean lines, heritage tones, and materials that’ll survive a decade of abuse.
Beyond the worktable, desks stretch toward the glass walls, Cove employees moving between them with tablets in hand, the low hum of conversation mixing with the distant hiss of the espresso machine. Anyone can walk in off the reception area and find us here—no doors, no walls—just an open space buzzing with work. Near the entrance, our receptionist sits behind a sleek, minimal desk, close enough to greet visitors, but far enough that anyone walking in from the lobby has a clear view straight to where we’re meeting.
I run a hand down my jaw, already scanning the supply chain breakdown on my younger brother Noah’s tablet.
“We’re still greenlit for international distribution?” I ask.
“On track,” Noah says from his seat, tapping his screen. “Inventory’s ahead of schedule.”
“Good.” I nod once before turning to my other brother Jesse. “Performance first in every campaign. I don’t want to see a single marketing push that uses the word ‘cozy.’”
Jesse groans dramatically. “You really know how to kill a vibe.”
“I’m not here to sell a vibe,” I say, still focused. “I’m here to sell products that work.”
“Spoken like a true CEO who hates joy,” he mutters.
I glance up, and Jesse throws me a lazy grin. He doesn’t rattle easily, which is probably why I keep him around as our Chief Marketing Officer. He’s all charm and swagger and flash, but beneath it, he gets the job done. He’s one year younger than me, two years older than Noah and three years older than our youngest brother Wes. His campaigns are smart. They’re bold and risky and sometimes I let him push the line because I trust him not to cross it. Most of the time.
“We need to address the headlines,” Noah says, shifting gears. “This isn’t going away, it’s all over socials.”
“I’m figuring it out,” Jesse nods, clicking into something on his laptop. “I’ll have a spin on it soon.”
I nod. “The accusations are bullshit. Just make it go away.”
Footsteps cross the polished floor behind me, the sharp click of heels cutting through the low hum of the meeting. Nobody wears heels in Cove offices—boots, sneakers, maybe the odd pair of loafers, but never heels. The sound is off, out of place.
