Father reaches for the crystal decanter on his desk, pouring himself a drink to match mine. He sips thoughtfully, then picks up an unlit cigar to roll between his fingers. He squints at it like there are some kinds of answers etched into the tobacco leaf.
“The board meeting is next month,” he remarks.
I take a sip. “I’m prepared.”
“Are you? Because Mikhail Volkov thinks his son should take over as CEO when I retire. What do you have to say to that?”
The vodka burns my throat as I cough on it. “That Volkov is an idiot.”
“Mikhail is my oldest friend and business partner.” Father’s eyes narrow. “And his son is married with two children already. Stability. Continuity. These things matter to the board.”
“The work should matter more. My work, to be specific.”
“It’s not enough.” He downs h
