"That’s all for today, sir. I’ve rescheduled your Monday call with the board to Tuesday, confird lunch with Mr. Elridge, and forwarded the final contracts to legal for review."
Leonard nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on the skyline beyond the window. "Good."
She tapped once more, then paused. "Also, the donation paperwork from the foundation is ready for signature. I left it in your inbox."
Another nod.
Becca lingered.
Leonard noticed. "Sothing else?"
She shifted the tablet to one arm, her voice softening just slightly. "Sir," she said after a short pause, "This Saturday marks the anniversary of Mr. Ford’s passing. Would you like to send the usual arrangent?"
Leonard stilled. The pen he’d been rolling between his fingers dropped onto the desk with a soft clatter. He blinked slowly, as if trying to grasp the weight of what she had just reminded him.
"...No," he said after a long beat. His voice was quiet, and for once, it lacked its usual clipped precision. "No need this year."
Becca blinked in surprise. Her head tilted slightly, brows lifting just a little, not rudely, but noticeably. "You’ll be attending, sir?"
Leonard nodded, his eyes fixed on a distant point beyond the window. "I will."
There was a silence that stretched just a second too long. Then Becca’s expression softened, the corner of her lips turning downward faintly, respectfully. "Understood. I’ll leave it off the list. If there’s anything else you’d like prepared..."
"No," he said quickly, sharper this ti. "That’s all. You can go."
She bowed her head slightly. "Alright. Good evening, Mr. Ford."
As the door shut behind her, the silence returned, deeper now, heavier.
Leonard leaned back in his chair. His fingers interlocked and rested against his lips, elbows propped on the armrests. He stared at the ceiling for a long mont before closing his eyes, exhaling slowly through his nose.
It had been five years.
Five years since he last stood before his father’s grave. Five years since that dark, suffocating day when the casket was lowered into the ground and the air slled of wet soil and grief. He hadn’t returned since.
Not once.
Not for his birthday.
Not for holidays.
Not even for the anniversaries.
He always told himself it didn’t matter, that his father wouldn’t have cared. That it wouldn’t have made a difference. He had told Becca, every year without fail, to send the usual bouquet, white lilies, blue delphiniums, and a ribbon.
Sothing to tick off the list.
Claudio hated it. Judged him for it. Called him heartless once, said their father would’ve expected more. Leonard never responded. What could he say? That their last conversation ended in an argunt? That his voice was still hoarse from shouting, even as he stood at the graveside pretending to mourn?
He pressed a hand against his chest, thumb brushing lightly against the center of his sternum, where sothing old and sour still lingered.
Regret. That’s what it was.
He’d buried his father, and with him, the chance to fix things. They’d always had a volatile relationship, flammable in the worst ways. Winston Ford was a man of harsh words and even harsher expectations. Leonard had spent most of his life trying to either et them or defy them. There was no in-between.
But... there were monts. Days when Winston looked at him with sothing almost like pride. Dinners when they didn’t fight. Silent nods of approval across boardrooms. Shared glances during charity events where their thoughts aligned wordlessly.
And now those monts were gone, unreachable.
He rubbed his hands together and leaned forward, forearms pressing against the edge of his desk. His eyes shifted toward the frad photo sitting beside his monitor, one he rarely acknowledged, but never moved. It was taken years ago. A rare candid shot: his father in a charcoal suit, standing between Claudio and Leonard during a gala. All three of them smiling. Or... close enough.
Back then, Katherine had still been part of the family.
Leonard’s jaw tightened at the thought. She had adored his father. And he, despite his stoic nature, had liked her in return. Respected her. He rembered once, his father even called her "remarkable."
And the twins.
They’d never t him.
Leonard’s stomach twisted. A bitter sort of ache settled deep in his chest.
They’d never t their grandfather. Never even knew he existed. Not because fate had stolen the mont, but because of him.
He leaned back in his chair slowly, exhaling through his nose.
He hadn’t even known about the twins.
But now...
Leonard stood, pushing his chair back with a low scrape against the floor. He crossed the room slowly and stood at the window, looking out over the city as dusk continued to settle. The skyline glead with gold and steel. The world moved on.
His reflection in the glass looked older, more tired than he rembered. His brows drawn together, lips set in a thin line.
He thought of Katherine, how she had looked when he asked her if she wanted to co. The hesitation in her eyes. The faint tremble in her fingers as she folded her hands in her lap. She hadn’t given him an answer yet, not clearly. But he had a feeling.
He thought of the twins, how they laughed, how they looked at him now with growing curiosity and cautious affection.
They deserved to know where they ca from.
Not just in nas or stories, but in presence. In legacy.
Maybe this was his way of starting again. Of softening sothing that had been too rigid for too long.
He exhaled.
This ti, he’d go.
Not out of duty. Not because soone expected it of him. But because he wanted to. He needed to.
He’d stand in front of that grave, with the people he loved at his side, and acknowledge what he had lost, and what he still had.
"After all these years..." Leonard murmured to no one. His voice barely audible, swallowed by the room.
A pause. Then he nodded once to himself.
"I’ll see you soon, Dad."
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