“I try,” I said, taking the seat across from him.
The waiter appeared immediately.
“Same as usual,” my father said.
I nodded. “The same. And sparkling water for the table.”
The waiter hesitated for a fraction of a second before leaving.
“Still hedging,” Richard observed.
“I prefer balance.”
He smiled faintly. “Discipline without flexibility becomes brittle.”
That was new. So, I filed it away.
The restaurant glowed with restrained wealth. Dark wood features, crisp white linen tablecloths, and low lighting that had probably been calibrated to the crowd. Conversations held at just the right volume. This was a room designed for permanence, for men who assumed they would always belong in it.
My father folded his hands. “How was the board meeting?”
“Efficient.”
“No surprises?”
“None.”
“Good.” He leaned back slightly. “Stability matters.”
There it was.
“Northwellisstable,” I said.
“Yes,” he replied. “The company is. But we both know that isn't the only thing that matters.”
His gaze held mine, unblinking.
“You’re thirty-five,” he continued. “At a certain point, your work stops being the full picture.”
“I’m aware of expectations.”
“I’m sure you are,” he said smoothly. “I question whether you appreciate how visible absence becomes.”
I took a slow breath. “If this is about optics...”
“It’s about legacy,” he corrected. “Optics are temporary. Legacy is not.”
The waiter returned with the wine. My father tasted it, nodded once, then lifted his glass.
“To continuity.”
I mirrored him. The wine was excellent, the rich notes playing on my taste buds. It was predictable and controlled, but no less appealing.
I thought I knew what to expect from the evening, and then laughter cut through the room.
It wasn't polite or restrained. It wasn't the type of laugh meant to be heard in this space, with these people. This laugh was warm. Full. It carried.
My attention shifted before I could stop it, and my eyes locked on her instantly, like I already knew who I would find.
