Still guarded.
“He was also afraid of what power was doing to you.”
The billionaire’s face hardened.
“There.”
He leaned back.
“The old man always believed kindness could run factories.”
The waitress shook her head.
“That is not what he said.”
“You barely knew him.”
“I worked with him for three summers.”
“I was his son for fifty-three years.”
“Then you know I’m right about what he believed.”
He stared.
She continued:
“He did not think businesses were charities.”
“He negotiated aggressively.”
“He fired people.”
“He walked out of deals.”
“He also believed humiliation was lazy management.”
The billionaire’s eyes narrowed.
“Did he say that?”
“Yes.”
“About me?”
The waitress paused.
Then:
“Yes.”
The billionaire looked away.
Traffic moved beyond the restaurant windows.
Yellow taxis.
Headlights.
People leaving bars.
Manhattan continuing without concern for anyone’s father.
The waitress said:
“One evening after you argued with him about layoffs, he said you thought fear and respect were the same thing.”
The billionaire’s expression changed.
He remembered the argument.
She saw it.
“What else?”
“He said you were brilliant.”
The billionaire gave a bitter laugh.
“That sounds like something a father says before an insult.”
“It was.”
He looked at her.
Despite himself, he smiled.
She continued:
“He said brilliance becomes dangerous when it stops requiring correction.”
The smile disappeared.
That one landed.
The billionaire looked toward the security detail.
Then back.
“Did he say anything near the end?”
The waitress’s chest tightened.
There it was.
The question beneath all the others.
She answered carefully.
“The last time I saw him?”
“Yes.”
“He was leaving New York.”
“I know.”
“He had another interpreter by then.”
“I know.”
The billionaire looked irritated.
“Did he say anything about me?”
She remembered.
The old patriarch standing beside a black sedan outside a medical office.
Rain.
A cane he hated using.
He had been weaker.
The young interpreter had helped with documents.
Before entering the car, he stopped.
Asked:
“Are you returning to school?”
She said yes.
He told her:
“Finish.”
She promised.
She had not.
Not then.
Then he looked toward the Manhattan traffic and said something about his son.