And throughout the majority of those seven years, I was convinced I understood him better than almost anyone else within the company.
I knew the exact way he preferred his coffee—black, devoid of sugar, never consumed past three in the afternoon. I knew which clients had the power to elicit a sigh from him before he even lifted the receiver. I knew that Tuesday mornings were typically the least opportune time to present him with a complex dilemma, whereas Friday afternoons, as the office grew still, were frequently when he turned unexpectedly reflective.
I was familiar with his routines, his shifts in mood, his calendar, and the minute details most individuals simply overlooked.
Yet, on one particular Friday afternoon, at a quiet park located ten minutes away from our offices, I came to realize there was one aspect of Richard Bennett I had fundamentally misread:
His true motives.
The Beginning
The journey began seven years prior, at a time when I was twenty-four. I was in desperate need of employment. My resume was painfully brief, my professional background virtually nonexistent, and during the course of my interview, my hands trembled so violently I nearly overturned the glass of water resting beside me.
Richard was already in his seventies. By that stage in his life, he had spent decades transforming the firm from a modest operation into a respected regional enterprise. Staff members spoke of him with an unusual blend of deep respect and apprehension.
He was never cruel. He refrained from shouting at workers, never sought to humiliate people during meetings, and had no need for such tactics. Richard had mastered a far more potent method.
He would merely lower his spectacles slightly, gaze at you across the rims, and maintain absolute silence. That single look had the power to make anyone second-guess every decision they had made since waking up.
