4. Luther
Luther
San Francisco is colder than I remember. It’s like that old saying that’s misappropriated to Mark Twain, “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.”
The perennial fog rolling over the bay at dusk as I walk to my temporary home at the Four Seasons isn’t winning any points.
It’s April, and there is no sign of spring.
I miss New York. I miss the weather, the sounds, and the change of the season. I miss my apartment there, which is my home. And as comfortable as the serviced residence at the Four Seasons is, it’s not mine, even if it’s convenient.
It’s close to the office, in the center of the city. Someone makes sure my clothes are dry-cleaned and laundered. The apartment is spic and span every evening when I walk in, and the fridge is stocked the way I like it.
It’s modern.
Floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook Market Street and the bay beyond.
Scandinavian design furniture.
The kitchen is chef standard. As much as I like going to a restaurant, I enjoy cooking, even if it’s just for myself. It soothes me after a long day at the office and is one of the times when my mind stops chewing on work.
It gives me respite as I watch a ball game and make myself something I like to eat.
I check my phone when it buzzes right before I step into the elevator.
Ria: What’s for dinner? Theo wants to pick up wine.
I smile.
Ria, my younger sister, is doing a PhD in organizational psychology at Stanford. She lives in Palo Alto with one of my closest friends, Theo Adams, an investigative journalist at the San Francisco Chronicle.
Theo and I met at NYU, and the first time he saw Ria—she was eighteen then—he was done for. I tried the protective big-brother act for about two minutes, but even then, it was obvious that these two were made from the same rare material.
Now, a decade later, they’re married, stable, annoyingly good communicators, dual-income-with-a-dog people. They’re one of the most well-balanced couples I know.
Me: Flank steak with chimichurri sauce. Ask him to buy a good Argentinian Malbec or a Loire Valley Cab Franc.
The elevator hums upward.
I grin and add: Tell Theo that any wine under fifty dollars is gonna be crap.
A lie. Just meant to poke the bear.
Theo insists he’s “frugal.” I say “cheap.” Tomato, to-mah-to.
A moment later:
Ria: Theo says you’re a snob, and he’s going to buy something under thirty to make his point.
I snort and pocket my phone just as the elevator doors open onto my floor.
I leave my bag in my home office and head to the bedroom. I take a quick shower, partly to wash the day away and partly to clear my head.
The apartment has an open floor plan with two bedrooms, one office, and a large dining, living, plus kitchen area.
I click on the television. I like the company, the sound in an empty house.
The screen blinks to life on the same channel I left it on the previous night.
ESPN.
Giants vs. Dodgers. Oracle Park.
Perfect.
I head to the fridge to get dinner going.
Cooking centers me. You can’t bullshit a pan. You can’t fast-talk a sauce into emulsifying. You’ve got to do the work, or the food won’t taste right.
I pull out the flank steak I marinated last night in garlic, lime, cilantro, and a hint of smoked paprika, so it reaches room temperature by the time Ria and Theo are here.
I pour a cup of red wine vinegar into a bowl and add dried oregano. I set some parsley, chili, garlic, and olive oil on the counter.
As I peel the garlic, my mind doesn’t stay on the game in front of me but wanders back to work.
I didn’t expect this role to feel so different from being a Senior Vice President, as I was for the past year and a half at my previous rotation.
I’ve run divisions before. I’ve managed teams bigger than HelixSphere. I’ve been in rooms making decisions worth hundreds of millions. But I’ve never been the CEO, the one with whom the buck stops. There is no one above me in that building. There is no buffer, no safety net.
Dad wanted me to run HelixSphere to show him what I’ve learned in the past eight years since I started working for him.
I started right after college, and after three years of entry-level jobs at three companies, I got my first managerial role, which is when I started my executive MBA.
Those were the longest two years of my life.
Working and studying is a tough gig. Some of my classmates joked that the EMBA is the divorce education because it sucks the life out of you.
I chop the parsley next. I add the garlic and parsley to the red wine vinegar and mix with a fork. I taste it, add salt to season, and set it aside.
I turn on the oven and slide wax paper onto a tin sheet.
I’m serving a roasted corn with red onion and red bell pepper salad to go with the steak. It’s a recipe I picked up from an old girlfriend of mine who was Native American and came from a pueblo in New Mexico. The relationship didn’t last, but my love for Pueblo cuisine took root.
Just then, the Giants get a hit, and Oracle Park roars.
I turn up the volume and watch the play.
But I only half pay attention. My mind is elsewhere…with her.
Guilt is heavy.
I can remember how her stutter tightened her entire body, the panic in her eyes when she tried to speak.
I didn’t even give her a chance.
That was fucking wrong.
There’s something almost innocent about her face, like she doesn’t know she’s pretty.
The way she sat and held herself, it was like she knew, was used to being dismissed, was used to disappearing into the wallpaper, because that’s how she stays out of trouble.
How the hell is she going to handle a big-ass project? Christ!
And Dot. I respect her. She won’t put her neck out for someone who isn’t good, which means that Anouk is good.
The woman rattled me…from the minute I laid eyes on her.
Is that why I acted like a jackass? Because she made me feel something unexpected, and I bulldozed over it instead of dealing with it?
Wouldn’t be the first time!
I toss frozen corn with paprika, salt, and some olive oil, then spread it on the wax paper.
I turn back to the TV when the Dodgers score—the Giants fans boo. The sportscasters talk excitedly about Shohei Ohtani's genius.
I stick the corn in the oven. While it roasts, I chop the red onion and bell pepper, then toss them together with cilantro, lemon juice, and olive oil.
I set it aside to rest when my phone buzzes.
There’s a message from the concierge saying my sister is on her way up. That’s what I mean by good service. Ria has her own key to my place, but the concierge knows what he needs to do when I’m in the apartment, and she’s barreling her way in.
She’s first through the door, an overloaded tote bag swinging off her shoulder like a weapon. She’s in jeans, a UC Berkeley hoodie, and a high, messy bun that somehow makes her look like both a gremlin and a genius.
Theo follows with two bottles of wine.
He’s the exact opposite of Ria. She’s exuberant while he’s composed. She’s an extrovert, while he’s an introvert. She’s blonde like my mother, and he’s dark-haired like me.
“Luther!” Ria drops her bag on a couch and comes to me. “Your place smells like heaven.”
I give her a quick hug and a kiss on her forehead. I adore my sister. She’s one of my closest friends, as I’m hers.
“Wine, under fifty that will knock your socks off.” Theo sets a bottle of Argentinian Malbec and a Spanish Bobal on the counter.
I hug him as well, before he heads off to find the wine key and glasses.
“He spent thirty minutes wandering around K&L Wine. He and one of the somms there became best buddies. I think they’re planning a wine-tasting trip to southern Spain!”
I like my wine as does Ria, but for Theo it’s a passion.
A smile tugs at my mouth. I love having them over. They make this empty apartment feel like home.
Ria hops onto one of the counter stools. “So, spill the tea. How was day one as CEO? Did anyone throw tomatoes? Protest signs? Ransom notes?”
Theo pours wine and hands Ria and me a glass each. He settles next to Ria and nods. “Yeah, tell us, man.”
I take a sip of the wine, the Bobal, and I’m surprised at how good it is. “It’s different…I think I have to pay more attention to leadership than just getting the work done, you know?”
Ria rests her head on Theo’s shoulder. “Yeah, you go beyond getting work done through others as a manager to getting the best work done while keeping your employees engaged and motivated.”
“It’s an adjustment,” I admit as I put a cast-iron pan on the gas stove and let it heat up.
Ria smiles. “And what level is your stress at?”
I shrug. “It’s fine.”
Ria makes an exasperated sound. “From a scale of one to ten, where one is I’m sleeping eight hours a night, no problem, and ten is I’m about one step away from throwing myself off the Golden Gate Bridge?”
I laugh. “This psych education you got going makes you take everything to extremes.”
Ria straightens, rolling her eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”
I pick up my wine. “Stress is…maybe at a five.”
Theo gives me a measured look. “Eight,” he corrects me flatly.
I let out a long breath, shaking my head slowly. “I…something happened today.”
“On your first day?” Ria scoffs. “Seriously, Luther?”
“Imagine how I feel,” I deadpan as the skillet begins to smoke.
I use tongs to drop the first steak onto the pan. It sputters and fills the kitchen with the right smells. I turn on the almost silent overhead vent hood, and it sucks up the smoke, so I don’t have a howling smoke alarm.
I check the steak, flip it, and drizzle more marinade over it.
The sizzle is satisfying.
“What happened?” Ria asks, concerned. She knows me well, as does Theo, and they probably caught the undercurrent of guilt that’s been swarming through me since that damned morning meeting.
“How about you set the table?” I suggest.
“Luther, you’re deflecting,” Ria singsongs.
“How about we set the table?” Theo stands up. “And then grill him while we eat?”
“Good idea ‘cause I’m starving,” Ria agrees.
While they set the dining table, I slice the steak, arrange the pieces neatly on a wide white plate, and drizzle the chimichurri.
Ria takes the plate away, and Theo carries the corn salad to the table.
We’ve done this many times before, the three of us, or the five of us when our parents are around, or the eight of us when Theo’s brother and parents are there as well. We’re close as a family. There is a rhythm to who does what and an ease to it.
There’s no drama.
“So, how’s the team?” Ria asks, giving me ten minutes of grace to get through part of my dinner.
“HelixSphere has always been well run.” I scoop up some of the corn salad on a fork. “So, it’s not one of those failing business units or teams I have to save. Here…I think my role is to grow and not break anything.”
“And?” Ria quirks an eyebrow.
Theo gives her a warning look. “Ria, give him a break. It was his first day.”
“I know, but something happened, which is bothering him, and I want to know,” my sister insists. She turns to me, puts her hand on mine. “How bad can it be?”
Pretty bad!
I sigh. “I fucked up. Big time. At the morning meeting with the pharma data analytics team.”
“How?” Theo asks carefully.
“I misread someone.”
Ria’s brows shoot up. “You? Misread someone? Impossible.” Her tone is laced with sarcasm. I tend to jump without thinking. It’s a derailer for me, and I’m working on it, apparently not hard enough since I did go off the deep end today.
“I…there’s this analyst and she….” I trail off and run a hand through my hair. Suddenly, I am so fucking ashamed.
“Luther, you’re worrying me now.” Theo isn’t used to seeing me in quite so much conflict with myself.
“This analyst, she…Dot sent one of her reports to the executive team, and I asked her a question about it. She…couldn’t answer, and I laid into her.”
They both look at me, as if waiting for the penny drop.
“She…ah…she stuttered.”
They keep waiting.
“Not because she didn’t know her material, according to Dot, at least—it was because…she has a stutter.”
“Luther!” Ria exclaims.
“I…look, I didn’t know she had a Goddamn stutter. I thought she didn’t know her material. An analyst has to be able to present their numbers and—”
“What did you do?” Ria cuts me off.
“I think I may have humiliated her.”
“You think you may have?” Ria glares at me.
I shrug, feeling uncomfortable as hell. “I did…I told her that if she can’t present her data, she shouldn’t own it.”
Ria groans. “Luther! Please tell me you apologized.”
“Well….”
Fuck me!
I didn’t apologize. I should’ve gone to her right after Dot and talked to her. That’s what a good leader would do. That’s what Dad would do.
Theo whistles low. “Don’t they teach that in Leadership 101. Apologize right after you screw up and not a week later?”
“It wasn’t the right moment?” I offer unconvincingly.
Ria snorts. “It’s never the right moment for men to apologize.”
I scrub a hand over my face. “She stutters. I didn’t know. I didn’t even think to wonder.”
Ria nods slowly. “Ah. So you hurt someone whose brain works differently. It can happen. The question is: What are you going to do about it?”
I glance out the wall-to-ceiling windows at the glittering bay. “I put her on Novagene.”
Theo chokes. “That’s a huge project.”
Tell me something I don’t know!
“Yeah, it is.”
Ria blinks. “Is that…helping her or punishing her?”
“Honestly, I don’t know,” I admit. “She may be a total fuck up, and Dad is watching this, so…. But Dot said I should do it and—”
“Dot’s hardly ever wrong about people. I would trust her.” Ria slides out of her chair and wraps her arms around my neck, holding me close. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”
Theo grins. “Yeah. Just don’t be a corporate tyrant.”
I huff out a laugh. “I’ll try.”
Ria kisses my cheek and smiles. “The fact that you’re so torn up about how you behaved tells me that you’re going to be just fine.”
I don’t have the heart to tell her that I don’t agree with her at all.
The conversation shifts, or maybe it doesn’t, because Ria talks about a paper she recently read about organizational psychology, employee belonging, and neurodivergence in the workplace—of all damn things.
Then, as if wanting to give me a break, Theo talks about a corruption story he’s chasing.
I listen, but I’m not all there because I’m busy sorting out my thoughts about one quiet analyst with soft brown hair and green eyes that look away too quickly.