“I'd allowed the importance of the transaction to make me impatient with uncertainty.”
Naomi remained quiet.
Then he looked toward her.
“And I failed to recognize that the person who saw the truth first was someone we had been taught to treat as unimportant.”
For a moment, his voice trembled.
“I'm sorry.”
Naomi studied him.
She thought about the years he hadn't contacted her.
The notices he assumed had been handled.
And the way he stood up for her when Graham tried to remove her from the boardroom.
Arthur wasn't perfect.
Neither had Samuel been.
But he was standing before her, acknowledging what he'd failed to do without demanding that she make him feel better.
She took a breath.
“Thank you.”
The old man nodded.
For several seconds, they looked toward the skyline.
Then Naomi asked.
“Do you ever wish you could go back?”
Arthur smiled sadly.
“Every day.”
She looked toward him.
He continued.
“But Samuel used to tell me that a system designed only to describe past failures isn't much use.”
Naomi frowned.
“What did he mean?”
Arthur smiled.
“He said you have to learn enough from the failure to make the next decision better.”
For a moment, she became quiet.
Then laughed softly.
“That sounds like him.”
Arthur nodded.
“Yes.”
He looked toward the empty table.
Then added.
“He would've been proud of you.”
Naomi's eyes filled.
For several seconds, she couldn't speak.
Finally, she whispered.
“I wish he could've told me himself.”
Arthur nodded.
“So do I.”
They remained beside the windows for a long time.
Then the old chairman gave her a small envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Samuel Brooks in his workshop.
Naomi beside him, perhaps twelve years old.
Both smiling at an electrical model.
On the back, in Samuel's handwriting, were the words:
Naomi asked the one question nobody else thought to ask.
I think she's going to be better at this than I am.
Naomi covered her mouth.
For a moment, she couldn't breathe.
Then the tears came.
She had spent years wondering whether her father ever saw anything in her beyond a responsibility he struggled to fulfill.
Now she held proof that he'd noticed.
He'd remembered.
And he'd been proud.
The photograph didn't erase what was missing.
But it gave her something she'd wanted since childhood.
A memory that belonged to both of them.
Arthur gently touched her shoulder.
Then left her alone.