Urban God of Rebate: Infinite Returns Of Women And Powers

”It is,” said Sean.

Silence.

Not hostile. Just the specific silence of two people on either side of something very large with no established language for it.

”The Vertex disclosure,” said Richard. ”Your name in the financial news. I’d been watching from a distance for two years and then you were suddenly visible and.” He paused. ”My daughter texted me. She’d found your name. She asked if I knew I had a son.”

”Your daughter,” said Sean.

”Sophie,” said Richard. ”She’s fifteen. She found a Google alert.” A different quality entered his voice when he said her name. Something warmer and less managed. ”She’s the one who made me stop waiting.”

Sean stood up from his desk.

He walked to the window and looked at the campus morning outside, the Thursday version of it, students and coffee cups and the ordinary machinery of a place that had nothing to do with what was happening in this phone call.

”What do you want,” said Sean.

Not unkindly. Just the direct question.

”To meet you,” said Richard. ”If you’re willing. Nothing beyond that. No claims. No legal arrangements. No obligation on your side of any kind.” A pause. ”I made a choice when I was twenty-four that I’ve thought about every day since. I’m not asking you to pretend that choice didn’t happen or to forgive it. I’m just asking if there’s any version of this where we can sit in the same room.”

Sean thought about Catherine Walsh-Miller.

He thought about her at a site review disagreeing about something structural and being right and not apologizing for being right. He thought about a woman who could have made a different decision when she found out she was pregnant and had instead decided to raise her son on her own terms rather than someone else’s. He thought about sixteen and a fast-moving cancer and a specific kind of alone.

He thought about what she would have said about this phone call.

She would have said something short and accurate. She always did.

”Send me your contact details,” said Sean. ”I’ll think about it.”

A pause. ”Okay,” said Richard. The word carrying the specific quality of someone who had expected either a yes or a no and had received something more careful than either and was processing that as a kind of hope.

”I’m not saying yes,” said Sean.

”I understand,” said Richard.

”And I’m not saying no yet,” said Sean. ”I’m saying I’ll think about it.”

”That’s fair,” said Richard. ”That’s more than fair.”

He sent the contact details while they were still on the call. Sean’s phone showed the incoming text: a number, an email, an address. Miller Development Company. The address was in the financial district. Five minutes from the Vertex offices.

”One question,” said Sean.

”Yes,” said Richard.

”Sophie,” said Sean. ”Does she know about my mother’s family. What your father did to them.”

A long silence.

”Yes,” said Richard quietly. ”I told her. When she found your name. I told her everything.” A pause. ”She said, and I’m quoting her exactly, that you didn’t cause it so why would it matter to how she treats you.”

Sean held the phone.

”She sounds like an interesting person,” he said.

”She is,” said Richard. ”She’s the most interesting person I know. Probably the second most interesting person in my family now.” He said it without performance. Just the simple truth of a man acknowledging something he’d been sitting with.

”I’ll be in touch,” said Sean.

”Thank you for answering,” said Richard. ”I know you didn’t have to.”

The call ended.

Sean stood at his window for a moment.

He looked at the Thursday campus. The coffee cups. The backpacks. The ordinary machinery proceeding without any interest in what had just happened in room on the fourth floor of a building overlooking it.

He texted Max.

Richard Miller. Miller Development Company. I need everything. Founding, history, the union situation in the 1980s specifically. His personal history. A daughter named Sophie, fifteen. His current wife, Diane. Everything.

Max replied in three minutes.

That’s a detailed brief for eight forty-five in the morning. Who is he.

He says he’s my father, Sean replied.

The response took longer than usual. Long enough that Sean could tell Max had stopped whatever he was doing and was sitting with the information.

Sean, Max typed finally.

Yeah.

Are you okay.

Sean thought about the honest answer.

I don’t know what I am yet, he typed. That’s accurate. Get me the information and then I’ll know what I am.

I’ll have it by tonight, said Max. And Sean.

Yeah.

Call me if you need to talk before then.

Sean looked at that message for a moment.

I know, he typed. Thank you.

He put his phone in his pocket and went back to his desk.

The Vertex board update was still open on his laptop. Clara’s six fifty-three AM send time still in the corner. The specific professional document of someone who had been working before most people were awake.

He read it.

He made two notes in the margin.

His phone buzzed at nine twelve.

A text from an unknown number. Not Richard. Different. The same area code.

Hi. This is Sophie. I know this is a lot. Dad doesn’t know I got your number from his phone. You don’t have to text back. I just wanted to say that I found everything I could about you online and you seem like someone worth knowing. That’s all. Sorry if this is too much. You can ignore this.

Sean looked at the text for a long moment.

Then: It’s not too much.

A pause. Then Sophie: Oh good. Also I have like forty seven questions but I’ll try to ask them in a normal human order and not all at once.

How many have you held back so far, he typed.

Currently forty four, she said.

He almost smiled.

Ask three, he typed.

A pause. Then in rapid succession.

Is it true you blocked a hostile acquisition at eighteen. Do you actually know how to read contracts or is that journalist exaggeration. What was mum like.