We pass his assistant, a handsome man with a beard, who calls out my name as if we've met. We haven't. He recognizes me from the picture that was taken at my graduation of me and my parents. One almost identical, but with my brother's smiling face while he's wearing his cap and gown, hangs next to it in my dad's private office.
"Do you want anything?" My dad shrugs off his suit jacket and hangs it on a coat rack near the door before he closes it behind us. "I remember you liked tea. I can get you an iced tea, Bern. Would you like that?"
He's trying and that's more than he usually does. He may have attempted to call me twice in the past two weeks but that pales in comparison to the two calls a day I was making to him after my grandma died. He rarely picked up. He was always in a meeting or out at a showing. I was never at the top of his priority list, the way he was on mine.
"I'm fine," I say as I sit on a leather couch next to a bank of windows. "I'm sorry I missed your calls. I tried calling you back but you must have been busy."
He sits next to me, crossing his legs at the knees. "Business is good. I'm taking on new listings every day."
Of course, he is. He's in an ongoing competition with himself to prove that he still has it.
He looks down at the expensive watch on his wrist. "I have a showing in an hour but I'm glad you stopped by. I know what it's about."
I scan the pictures hung on the wall next to those of my brother and me. Many of them are famous faces; clients that he helped to either buy or sell their property. There's one of him and the mayor and another of him with my mother in Hawaii. It must have been taken more than twenty years ago. I can't remember the last time he ventured out of New York.
"You're here about The Beryl aren't you?" His voice softens as my gaze travels over another photograph. "I didn't push for you to come on board for any reason other than I believe strongly that you're the most qualified person for the job."
I stand and walk over to the wall of pictures. I walk past them all as he talks about Cooper and friendship and commitment to a bigger picture.
My ears start to ring as I stand in front of the image of my father, dressed in a tuxedo, my mother standing next to him and three other people, all smiling brightly for the camera.
I hear him behind me and his footsteps on the hardwood as he nears where I am.
I raise my finger to the frame and tap the edge. "Is this from the Met Gala?"
"It is." He wraps his arm around my shoulder. "Wasn't your mom a vision in that dress? I had it tailored made for her."
"That's Smith Booth." I touch my finger to the glass.
He nods. "That's right, and that's Sigrid Hull, one of the most beautiful women I've ever met."
"Who is that next to her?" I turn to look at my dad, waiting for the answer I already know.
"Otto Schmidt. He's one of my top agents."
I study his face, waiting for the smile to break, but it doesn't. "How long has he worked for you?"
I see the moment it happens. His expression shifts. Panic washes over his face as realization hits him like a ton of bricks. "I hired him the night of the Gala."
"What did you do?" I grab hold of his forearm and shake. "It was you, wasn't it? Tell me what you did."
"Bernie." His voice cracks as he turns to look at me. "That brownstone was a money pit. You would have regretted that decision for the rest of your life."
"What did you do?" I repeat my question, desperate for an answer.
"He wanted a job. Otto wanted a job with the firm." He rakes both hands through his hair. "He came to me with your offer because he felt it wasn't prudent. He thought you were making a mistake going in so aggressively. I told him I'd take care of it."
"He was legally obligated to present that offer." I firm my stance, crossing my arms over my chest. "He had to present my offer."
"It wasn't in your best interest to go in with that offer."
"Sigrid never saw my offer?" I scrub my hand over my forehead. "Are you saying she never saw it?"
He stands in silence. His eyes are focused clearly on mine.
"Answer me," I snap. "Are you the reason I never got to buy that place for grandma?"
"Yes," he whispers. "I'm the reason."
