Patricia, the CEO’s gatekeeper, listened, cool and contained.
“His father?” she repeated.
“Yes,” Catherine said. “He signs. He’s waiting downstairs.”
“I’ll check,” Patricia said. “Have him remain in the lobby.”
Twenty minutes stretched to thirty. The man—Robert, he signed—told Catherine about architecture, about sketching skylines by hand before software took over. About a wife who taught at a school for deaf children; about a boy who outran everyone’s expectations.
“He built this?” Robert signed, glancing toward the brushed-steel elevators.
“He did,” Catherine answered. “People admire him.”
Robert’s smile carried pride and a shadow of grief. “I wish he knew I am proud of him without proving it every second.”
Patricia called back: “He’s in back-to-back meetings. At least an hour.”
Robert gave a small, apologetic smile. “I should go.”
Catherine heard herself reply before caution could catch up.
“Would you like to see where he works? A short tour?”
His eyes brightened like morning. “I would love that.”
