Page 103 of True Colors

“Yes,” I croak. My throat is dry.

“And you know Erin couldn’t answer it.”

“Dad, I⁠—”

“She didn’t build the model,” he cuts in, turning now, facing me. “And you knew that before you walked into the room.”

I say nothing.

“Do you know how we knew?” he asks.

I nod.

“Tell me.”

My chest tightens. “Because Erin was regurgitating. She wasn’t presenting.”

Dad smirks. “The data isn’t hers. The model isn’t hers.”

“Yes.”

“Now, son, explain to me why the fuck you would put Erin out there instead of the person who built the model,” he demands as he settles into a client chair.

I hesitate.

Every answer sounds cowardly in my head. But this is my father. I trust him. I didn’t want to disappoint him—which I have—but he’s not going to be harsh or demeaning. He’s going to try to understand me, and then he’s going to tell me what he thinks I did wrong and how I can do better.

But I so desperately wanted him to say, ”Good job, son. That was well done,“ so desperately that I fucked it all up and lost my girl to boot.

“Anouk struggles with presentations,” I reveal. “I was worried about how it would look.”

Dad frowns. “She has a confidence problem?”

I rub my temple and shake my head. “No, Dad. She…fuck…I fucked up.”

I can’t say it. I can’t tell my father how wrong I was. But now, sitting here, having to tell him that I sidelined an employee because she has a disability…the wrongness of it is incalculable.

“Luther, what’s going on with this data analyst?”

“She has a stutter.”

My father’s expression hardens—not with anger, but with something colder. “A stutter?”

I nod, feeling ashamed of myself.

How could I let Erin influence me?

How could I let my insecurities lead me to this place of disgrace?

“She has a speech impairment.”

“Son….” Dad’s eyes widen, and I can see it. Distress. At my words. My behavior.

I can see it so clearly now. I couldn’t then, when I made the decision, when I said those awful things to her and did it kindly, gently, dumbly.

I was so wrapped up in being a good CEO that I stopped being a decent man.

Twenty-twenty hindsight.