Inside the glass room, Oliver spoke about asset optimization as though the phrase settled every moral question that might arise. A Blackridge representative questioned the future of the public-service research division, and Zane answered that those activities would be rationalized after the acquisition. Calista looked over a neat summary table and asked whether the affected communities had alternative providers. Oliver assured her the issue had been considered, although his answer contained no details and his eyes never left the page.
Calista sensed that she ought to ask another question. She had received complaints from engineers about delayed funding, and the independent valuation had arrived with an annex she still had not examined. But Oliver's tone suggested that asking for another explanation would expose uncertainty in front of the prospective buyer. She set down her pen, nodded, and let the meeting move on.
An hour and several minutes after Dante's arrival, Matilda leaned into his side and whispered that she was hungry. He gave her the last crackers and promised they would find a proper breakfast when the interview ended. She tried to sit taller so the people behind the glass would not think she was causing trouble. The effort broke his heart because it meant she had already begun adjusting herself to other people's contempt.
That was when Zane Caldwell emerged from the conference room with two directors behind him. He stopped in front of the bench, looked at the visitor badge, and gave Dante a smile that contained no welcome. "You're the candidate for the analyst position?" he asked, as though the answer were entertaining. Dante nodded and kept one hand resting lightly on Matilda's shoulder.
Zane looked at the girl's rabbit and then at Dante's shoes. "A little advice," he said, projecting his voice far enough for the reception desk to hear. "If you want people to take you seriously, don't bring a child to an executive office, and don't wear a suit that looks as though somebody donated it. We have standards here."
One director gave an uncertain laugh, and the other laughed louder after seeing that Zane expected it. The sound traveled across the polished lobby and reached Matilda with devastating clarity. She looked at her father's worn shoes, then up at Zane, her eyes bright with sudden tears. "Daddy's suit isn't ugly," she said, speaking before she could decide whether a child was allowed to disagree.
"At least the kid is loyal," Zane replied, amused with himself. He glanced toward the guards, apparently expecting them to join in, and made a little gesture toward the exit. "Perhaps today's interview isn't going to work out. You'll have to learn how to present yourself if you want a place in this industry."
Dante did not rise immediately. He looked at Matilda and saw that she was trying not to cry, not because she believed Zane was right, but because she did not want to make things more difficult for him. The same instinct had kept countless employees quiet under managers who treated embarrassment as a management tool. Dante had come to observe a company; he was now watching his own daughter learn its worst lesson.