Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Julian
The volume on the speakerphone in my office is turned all the way up.
“The Singapore team has the revisions," I say into the void.
"Have Legal review the language before it goes back. I don't want assumptions becoming obligations."
A chorus of acknowledgments answers from the other end of the line.
"The revised timeline still works?" I ask.
"It does," one of the executives replies.
"We'll have the updated draft on your desk before close of business."
"Good. Keep me informed if anything changes before Monday," I say.
"It will," he says.
"If that's everything, we'll reconvene Monday," I say.
The call ends, and I set my phone on the desk.
Silence settles over my office. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of the forty-fourth floor, Manhattan stretches in every direction.
The city is always moving, always reminding everyone beneath it that there is somewhere else to be.
I stopped finding the view impressive years ago.
I lean back for a moment, rubbing a thumb along the edge of the leather portfolio sitting open in front of me.
Three acquisition proposals. Two investor updates.
A stack of briefing notes Daniel left less than an hour ago, each tabbed with the precision I've come to expect from him.
A soft knock sounds against the open door. Daniel steps inside carrying a tablet.
"You wanted to review next week's schedule," he says.
"I did," I say.
He crosses the room and places the tablet in front of me before taking his usual position across the desk.
"Zurich confirmed for Thursday morning," he says.
"The Tokyo delegation requested an additional hour Wednesday afternoon. I tentatively accepted."
"That's fine," I say.
He makes the note without looking up.
"The investor dinner?" he asks.
"Push it," I say.
"By?" he asks.
"Two weeks," I say.
Another note.
"The foundation luncheon?" he asks.
"I'll still attend," I say.
He scrolls down the calendar.
"You'll need to leave Wednesday afternoon if you're planning to arrive in Boston Thursday evening," he says.
I study the screen for another second before shaking my head.
"No," I say.
Daniel looks up.
"I want to leave Tuesday," I say.
His expression doesn't change, but after working together for nearly twelve years, I recognize the almost imperceptible pause.
"One day earlier?" he asks.
"Yes," I say.
"I can rearrange everything," he says.
"I know," I say.
He begins moving meetings with practiced efficiency.
"I'll shift Zurich to video conference. The investor dinner moves to the following month. The strategy review can be handled remotely from Boston," he says.
"Good," I say.
He continues making adjustments.
"I'll also have the hotel extend your reservation," he says.
"Thank you," I say.
Another pause.
"Would you like me to arrange anything else while you're there?" he asks.
I glance toward the calendar again.
"No. Just make sure Thursday morning stays clear," I say.
"The interview," he says.
"Yes," I say.
He nods once.
"I confirmed with Ms. Callahan's office this morning. They're good with beginning at 10:00," he says.
"Perfect," I say.
Daniel closes the tablet.
"I'll send the revised itinerary within the hour," he says.
"Appreciate it," I say.
He gathers his notes just as another knock sounds. Neither of us has to guess who ignores the invitation to wait. The door opens, and Adrian strolls inside carrying a coffee he undoubtedly convinced someone else to buy for him.
"I knew I'd find you buried under paperwork," Adrian says.
Daniel hides the smallest smile.
"Good morning, Mr. Blackwell," he says.
"Daniel," Adrian says.
Adrian nods toward him before looking back at me.
"Stealing my brother for another exciting day of spreadsheets?" He asks.
"I'll leave you two to it," Daniel says.
As soon as the door closes behind him, Adrian drops into the chair opposite my desk without asking.
"I just got off the call with Singapore," he says.
"I know," I say.
"They're still nervous," he says.
"They'll survive. They always do," I say.
He takes a drink.
"I still think we should announce after the quarter closes," he says.
"We're not waiting," I say.
"They'll complain," he says.
"They always complain," I say.
Adrian laughs quietly.
"I keep forgetting optimism isn't one of your hobbies," he says.
"It isn't," I say.
He studies me for a second.
"You look tired," he says.
"I slept," I say.
"That's not what I asked," he says.
"I'm fine," I say.
"I'll take your word for it," he says.
He reaches for one of the briefing folders before I slide it farther across the desk.
"No," I say.
"I was only looking," he says.
"You were absolutely not only looking," I say.
He grins.
"There he is," he says.
"There who is?" I ask.
"My twin," he says.
I shake my head.
"You came in here for something," I say.
"I did," he says.
He sets his coffee down.
"Next week's appointments," he says.
"What about them?" I ask.
"I wanted to make sure you saw the revisions," he says.
"I made a few more," I say.
He raises an eyebrow.
"Oh?" he says.
"I'm heading to Boston a day early," I say.
"Really?" he asks.
"Yes," I say.
He doesn't say anything immediately. He simply watches me.
"Hm," he says.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing," he says.
"If it's nothing, stop looking at me like that," I say.
"I'm thinking," he says.
"Dangerous habit," I say.
"It can be," he says.
His smile widens for half a second before fading.
"So..what did you think of Sophie?" he asks.
The question lands more quietly than I expect. I meet his eyes.
"Why?" I ask.
"I'm asking," he says.
"She's..good," I say.
He waits.
"Prepared," I say.
Still waiting.
"She doesn't waste questions," I say.
Adrian nods slowly.
"I figured you'd appreciate that," he says.
"You introduced her," I say.
"I did," he says.
"So I assumed there was a reason," I say.
"There was," he says.
Silence stretches between us. Long enough for either of us to say something unnecessary. Neither of us does.
Finally Adrian leans back.
"Some of the guys are getting together Saturday," he says.
"For?" I ask.
"Golf," he says.
"You know I don't play golf," I say.
"You own golf clubs," he says.
"I own skis," I say.
"You don't ski either," he says.
"I never claimed to," I say.
He laughs.
"So that's a no?" he asks.
"I'll probably see Steve," I say.
"Fair enough," he says.
He stands, grabbing his coffee.
"I'll let you get back to saving the company," he says.
"The company doesn't need saving," I say.
"No," he says with an amused smile. "It has you."
He disappears into the hallway before I can answer. The office falls quiet again. I look back toward the calendar still open on my desk.
Boston. Two days instead of one. It makes logistical sense.
The schedule is lighter. The meetings can be handled remotely.
There is no reason to rush in Thursday morning when arriving Tuesday evening gives me time to settle before the interview.
Every decision has an explanation. Every adjustment has a purpose. I close the calendar.
My phone vibrates against the desk.
Steve: Missed your call the other day. I owe you one.
A smile pulls at one corner of my mouth before I can stop it. I type back.
Julian: Forget the phone call. Drinks tonight?
His reply comes less than a minute later.
Steve: Thought you'd never ask. Club at 7:00?
Julian: Works for me.
I set the phone down. Steve has always been predictable in the best possible way.
We met our freshman year at MIT after discovering we were the only two people in a systems engineering seminar willing to argue with the professor's mathematical assumptions.
Most people avoided debating faculty. Steve considered it entertainment.
Twenty-five years later, not much has changed.
The members' club sits only a few blocks from the office, tucked behind an understated limestone facade that reveals nothing about the conversations taking place inside. Steve is already seated when I arrive. He raises his glass.
"You're late," he says.
I glance at my watch.
"I'm 2 minutes early," I say.
"Exactly," he says.
I laugh quietly as I take the chair across from him.
"How's Hannah?" I ask.
His entire expression softens.
"Good," he says.
"Still putting up with you?" I ask.
"Barely," he says.
The bartender places a bourbon in front of me without asking. Steve notices.
"You spend too much time here," he says.
"They know what I drink," I say.
"They know where you sit," he says.
"They're observant," I say.
"They're concerned," he says.
I shake my head.
"So," I ask, "how are things?"
"Honestly?" he asks.
"When have you ever answered dishonestly?" I ask.
He grins.
"Fair point," he says.
He takes a sip.
"I think she's the one," he says.
I stare at him.
"The one?" I ask.
"I know," he says.
"I've never heard you say that," I say.
"I've never meant it before," he says.
He shrugs easily.
"We spent Sunday repainting the kitchen," he says.
"You hate painting," I say.
"I do," he says.
"You hate home improvement," I say.
"I really do," he says.
"But she wanted sage green," I say.
"And?" he says.
"And apparently I now have opinions about cabinet hardware," he says.
I laugh.
"You've changed," I say.
"I have," he says.
He points his glass toward me.
"Don't look so terrified," he says.
"I'm not terrified," I say.
"You are a little," he says.
"I've simply never imagined you voluntarily discussing cabinet pulls," I say.
"They're surprisingly expensive," he says.
"I'll take your word for it," I say.
He smiles.
"What about you?" he asks.
"What about me?" I ask.
"Stacy," he says.
"It ended," I say.
"I assumed," he says.
"It wasn't dramatic," I say.
"It never is with you," he says.
"We wanted different things," I say.
Steve gives me a knowing look.
"Did you?" he asks.
"I think so," I say.
"You think?" he asks.
I shrug.
"It wasn't right," I say.
He studies me for a second before letting it go.
"So," he says, "what's this about Boston?"
"I have an interview," I say.
He blinks.
"You?" he asks.
"Yes," I say.
"Not Adrian?" he asks.
"No," I say.
Steve leans back.
"Hold on," he says.
He actually laughs.
"You're voluntarily doing an interview?" he asks.
"It's part of the anniversary campaign," I say.
"I know what it's for," he says.
He shakes his head.
"I just never expected you to say yes," he says.
"Neither did Adrian," I say.
"So why did you?" he asks.
I roll the glass between my hands.
"The journalist seemed competent," I say.
"Competent," he says.
"She was," I say.
Steve smiles.
"I've known you for twenty-five years," he says.
"I'm aware," I say.
"You realize that's not how normal people describe someone," he says.
"It's accurate," I say.
"So she's impressive," he says.
"I didn't say that," I say.
"You didn't have to," he says.
I exhale through my nose.
"She's prepared," I say.
"There it is again," he says.
"What?" I ask.
"The second compliment," he says.
"I compliment people," I say.
"You compliment balance sheets," he says.
I can't help laughing.
Steve points toward me.
"That's the first genuine laugh I've gotten out of you all week," he says.
"I laughed yesterday," I say.
"No, you acknowledged humor," he says.
"They're different," I say.
"They absolutely are," he says.
He lifts his glass.
"You're getting old," he says.
"I know," I say.
"You should probably do something about that," he says.
"I wasn't aware age worked that way," I say.
"I'm serious," he says.
"So am I," I say.
"You've built a company," he says.
"Our family built a company," I say.
"You've helped build an empire," he corrects.
"At some point you've got to figure out what happens after work."
"I have hobbies," I say.
"You read annual reports for fun," he says.
"I also sail," I say.
"Twice a year," he says.
"I ski," I say.
"You own skis," he says.
I narrow my eyes.
"You've been talking to Adrian," I say.
"We compare notes," he says.
"Dangerous," I say.
"For you, maybe," he says.
He smiles warmly.
"I'm happy," he says.
"I can see that," I say.
"I want that for you too," he says.
I look down into my glass. For a moment, neither of us speaks. The silence isn't uncomfortable. It never has been. Some friendships don't require conversation every second.
Steve finally breaks it.
"You deserve more than board meetings, Julian," he says.
I don't answer immediately. Instead, I look out through the tall windows toward the lights stretching across Manhattan, wondering when exactly work stopped being something I did and quietly became the framework around which everything else was expected to fit.