“You always were like that,” he says. Then, after a beat, “Always have been.”
He used to saysince you were little, I don’t correct him.
“I noticed you were home late,” he adds, carefully. “Everything go alright?”
“Yes,” I say. “It did.”
“You handled yesterday well,” he says suddenly. “I saw it.”
I don’t ask how much he remembers. I never do.
“I’m not in the business of reacting,” I tell him. “You taught me that.”
He brightens at that, pride that has been stolen from him given back, if only for a moment. “Yes, I did.” He clears his throat. “I know I had a good day yesterday, I remember that.”
Something in my chest tightens, but I keep my face neutral. This isn’t about me reacting. This is about listening.
“Your sisters didn’t question me, but they were very unfair to you.”
That’s nothing new.
“Matteo tells me the board was also an issue.”
“It was handled,” I assure him.
He nods. “After your meeting, if you have time, I think we should do a few more videos while I’m clear. Nothing scripted. Just conversation. The kind that reminds them I’m still here.”
I step closer without realizing it.
“And,” he adds, eyes sharp now, the old fire flickering clean and bright, “we should surprise the board with a call. Me at my desk, to shut them up.”
“That’s not on the calendar,” I say carefully.
He smiles faintly. “It didn’t matter to them when they showed up demanding, why should it matter to the majority shareholder? I get 55 percent of the say. Call the meeting.” Thenhis expression shifts. Not fear. Honesty. “Because I don’t know where this disease will leave me tomorrow. And I’d rather decide things today than let them decide for me later.”
I swallow. Slowly. Deliberately. “I’ll set it up for you.”
“No,” he replies gently. “You’ll be there. I’ll speak. I want them to hear me while I still sound like myself,” he says. “Before they start listening for gaps instead of substance.”
“Okay,” I say. “We’ll do it today.”
He stands, relief softens his shoulders, but just a touch. “Good, you were always better at timing than I was.”
I smile despite myself. “You taught me timing.”
He steps forward, then presses his forehead briefly to mine. A gesture he’s started doing lately, like touch helps anchor him. “Whatever happens, you’re ready.”
We stand there like that for a few moments, and then I step back, “I’ll be back by ten. I’ll set the meeting from your office.”
The board call comes together the way it always does. On time. Predictable. Clean.
Faces appear one by one, framed by offices and winter light. No urgency. No curiosity sharpened into suspicion. Just the final Saturday meeting of the year, the kind people join with coffee in hand and half their attention already drifting toward December.
My father sits at his desk, looking sharp, strong, and so handsome. I slide my phone out of my pocket and snap a few pictures, because this is Arthur Fairfax, and I want this moment preserved.
“Good morning, gentlemen. My daughters were at the parade yesterday when they were bombarded with questions and concerns you seem to have, and I’ve been informed, but not fromSofie, that you and a few of those who were hired as favors to you were questioning her ability. It pisses me off even more than rescheduling my flight to a new course to play golf to deal with a bunch of men acting like children. That ends now. Moving on, let’s keep this efficient.”
Go Dad, I silently cheer.
