‘How do I look?’
Like I did, thought, Gerald Everton, his mind slipping back to when his father introduced him to the board. ‘Grand. Your mother would be so proud.’
‘What about you, dad?’
He couldn’t be more proud. He’d imagined this moment, back in the delivery room. Not that he’d told anyone. He straightened his son’s tie then tie pin. ‘Three generations wore this puppy when…’ He swallowed.
‘Should I go in?’
Happier to be dealing with the mundane, Gerald turned to the grey-suited man at reception. ‘I’ll tell Martin to let them know you’re ready.’
Gerald had barely turned when the mahogany double doors eased open and Casper, CEO of Everton Financial stepped out. He always looked hawkish but even he smiled with warmth.
‘Tony, step on through.’ He nodded briefly at Gerald, a look most would think cursory unless they understood context. No words needed for the implicit ‘thank you.’
Martin had moved to the lift, holding the door for Gerald. ‘Big day, Mr Everton. Everyone’s pleased.’
He smiled and moved into the little box which began to speed the ninety two floors to the plaza. Everyone thought Gerald so noble, the ultimate self-sacrifice, stepping aside to create space for his boy on the board. So talented he would have gone elsewhere, a competitor, had he not done so, but the no nepotism rule his grandfather had introduced prevented Tony’s elevation with Gerald still in situ.
He held his side, near his kidney. Months, they said. This was no sacrifice now that the futures of the family business and his son were inextricably linked.
As he stepped outside a shadow crossed the sun causing him briefly to frown. No, he thought, it’s a glorious September morning, the new century has barely begun. No frowns today.
This was written in response to Microcoms 134 prompt, here.