The question lingered as I drove home that evening.
Rather than turning toward the house where I'd lived with Richard for decades, I found myself following a familiar route to Oliver's downtown apartment building. The decision wasn't premeditated, but once made, felt necessary. The concierge recognized me immediately. "Mrs.
Blackwood, it's been too long. Shall I announce you to Mr. Blackwood?" "No, thank you, James.
I'd prefer to surprise him." In the elevator ascending to the penthouse Oliver had purchased after his divorce 3 years earlier, I prepared myself for potential hostility. We hadn't spoken privately since the board meeting, our interactions limited to formal company settings where professional decorum prevailed. When Oliver opened the door, surprise registered briefly before his expression settled into guarded neutrality.
Gone was the corporate uniform he'd worn for years. Gone, too, were the production coveralls of his new role. Instead, he wore faded jeans and a worn Harvard Business School T-shirt that made him look younger, more vulnerable. "Mother," he greeted me, stepping aside to let me enter.
"This is unexpected." The apartment reflected Oliver's public persona, sleek, modern, impeccably designed, with little evidence of personal history or sentiment. The art was clearly valuable, but selected for investment potential rather than emotional resonance. No family photographs adorned the walls or surfaces.
"I spoke with Frank Donovan today," I said, declining his gesture toward the minimalist sofa. "He says you're completing the technical requirements adequately." Oliver's laugh held no humor.
"High praise indeed. Adequately. I'm sure Dad would be thrilled with that assessment of his son's capabilities." "Frank also mentioned you've isolated yourself from the team."
I continued, ignoring the barb. "That you're missing the collaborative aspects essential to the role." "The team wants nothing to do with me," Oliver replied, moving to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.
"They know exactly who I am and why I'm there. The disgraced former CEO performing penance at his mother's command." "Is that how you see it? Penance?"
He turned to face me, fatigue evident in the shadows beneath his eyes. "What would you call it? I'm assembling components I used to approve budgets for, clocking in with the time cards I used to sign paychecks against. It's textbook humiliation."
"Or education," I suggested quietly. "The perspective your father always wanted you to have." "Dad's been gone for months."