Jonah greeted him politely but without deference.
Nobody there cared what surname he carried.
On one wall hung a photograph of a renovated community center.
Families filled the bright room, sitting beneath large windows where a dark, abandoned corridor had once been.“You did this?” Nathaniel asked.
“Our team did,” I said.
“I came up with the first plan.”
He studied the photographs.
“You always talked about making spaces that people actually wanted to live in.”
“You called it a sentimental business model.”
“I remember.”
He walked around the long table where staff members were sorting samples.When everyone left for lunch, he sat opposite me and apologized without trying to explain away what he had done.
“I diminished your work,” he said.
“I treated your independence as something I could permit or withdraw.
My father’s interference doesn’t excuse that.”
I had imagined hearing those words many times.
