The building was modest.
Brick walls.
Large windows.
A mural created by local artists.
Nothing like Hale Group headquarters.
Nothing like the mansion.
And yet I felt more proud of that little building than almost anything carrying my surname.
Clara handed me a paper cup of coffee.
“No cinnamon,” she said.
“Good.”
“You’re becoming Father.”
“I thought the point was for me to stop doing that.”
“Only the bad parts.”
I smiled.
For a moment we sat quietly.
Then Clara asked, “Do you ever wish we’d known earlier?”
“Yes.”
She looked at me.
The answer had come too quickly.
I corrected myself.
“Yes,” I repeated. “But not because I think we would have instantly become close.”
She nodded.
“We probably wouldn’t have.”
“I was insufferable at twenty-three.”
“You remain difficult.”
“I’ve improved.”
“Marginally.”
I smiled.
“What about you?”
“Do I wish we’d known?”
“Yes.”
She looked down at her coffee.
