You may go in now, Mr. Vice-President.

Thank you Gloria.

I uncurl my legs from the plush armchair that my father insists on furnishing his waiting room with. As comfortable as it may be, it does juxtapose the somewhat sparse and almost sterile atmosphere that seems to radiate from the walls. Two life size oil paintings of him stand guard next to the heavy oak door that leads to his inner sanctum. Not many are ever summoned to father's office except to discuss the most secret of missions or most colossal mistakes. I believe the old man has designed this waiting room to install even the most cocky, confident employee with the cloying emotions of doubt and shame. This allows for an efficient exchange of words, minimum effort, maximum output.

As much as it pains me, father has done an excellent job. I am his son, I have done nothing wrong and yet as I stride to the heavy door, I feel as though every step I take is towards my own execution. I am sixteen years of age, yet a five minute wait in this awful room has reduced me, mentally, to an unsure, insecure child. Father knows exactly how to un-nerve me. Why he even wishes to see me remains a mystery, however my inquisitive nature will not allow me rest until I discover why. I pause to take a deep breath before pushing open the door.

Old man has his back to me as I enter. He's looking down on his kingdom. His entire office boasts huge glass windows, capturing the most incredible panoramic three hundred and sixty degree view of the city. Midgar is my father's most incredible achievement. It is only fitting that he gazes upon his empire whenever the mood takes him. As mixed as my feelings are for my father, I can't help but admire his taste. Every object in this room practically screams wealth. Artifacts gathered from far of lands reside in display cabinets that are polished twice daily. I once heard father had a polisher beaten for leaving an almost invisible smear on one cabinet. As the room has no corners, old man has seen to it that innumerable drinks cabinets are always within reach. Perhaps to lull you into a false sense of security. If a man offers you a drink it's likely he's going to be understanding, is it not? The drinks cabinets are all in the shape of a globe. It seems fitting that father can control both his worlds inside and outside of his office simultaneously.

Father?

My tone is cool, in no way betraying the confusion I feel to this odd meeting. Old man turns round sharply, as though being disturbed from some period of extended reflection or reverence. As his eyes fall on me, his expression softens somewhat.

Ah, Rufus. Come in boy. Come in. I expect you're wondering why you are here?

Yes.

Father gestures to yet another absurdly plush armchair in front of his desk. In my previous examination of the room, it had completely escaped my gaze. Hard to believe, the chair is twice the size of me. I walk over to it and settle myself in comfortably. Although my mind is ablaze with questions, experience has taught me that when dealing with father, it is wise to let him speak first. Incessant questioning will only lead to anger and most likely, dismissal from his office. Then I'll never know what's going on. So I wait.

As you know Rufus, you stand to inherit the company when I'm gone. My entire life has been dedicated to building this company up from the ground. It has taken years and years of painful decisions, worry and sacrifice. My initial intention was to change the world so that my family would never have to suffer the consequences of poverty. Thus my motivation was purely personal. I wanted to change the world for the better. A world where my family would never want for anything.

You succeeded father. We want for nothing. We are the richest family in the world.

I have been wondering lately, if that is enough.

What do you mean?

I just wonder if I have done enough for you Rufus. You are my son, yet we have never spent any 'quality time' with one another. I have always been busy and you have either been with your mother on in a variety of classes to improve your education and prepare you to become leader of this company and in turn, this world, when the time comes. Perhaps if I had not been so blinded by power and greed and wealth I could've…I could've provided you with a more stable upbringing.

…

I can do nothing but stare silently at my father. This is the man who insisted that I be sent to the most exclusive boarding school as a child. At the tender age of five I was torn from my mother and sent to that hostile environment where wealth and privilege guaranteed you a place but not your safety. The man who insisted I undertake martial arts and firearms training when I should've been playing in the dirt pretending I was an astronaut. This is the man who, as far as I am concerned, imposed such a strict regime of rules on me and my mother in the early days that she drank herself into an early grave and I have never ever shed a tear since I was a baby.

And now he's filled with regret?

My mind replaces the disbelief and confusion with anger. Lots of it.

Father, the past cannot be changed. Our relationship is the way it is. We are more colleagues than family. Sometime I wish it had been different, but lamenting over past events is a waste of time and energy. Energy that could be used effectively elsewhere. Have you torn me away from my work for this? A barley concealed apology for my upbringing? A poorly thought out campaign for forgiveness and perhaps the salvaging of a relationship between you and your heir? While it is true that I have suffered for my privilege and wealth, I am grateful for the challenges they presented. The one thing I regret is that mother suffered. She was my one stable in this ever changing world, where everybody knew the rules of the game bar me. Where I would be given no notice or warning to the next upheaval that I would have to face.

I stride over to my father. I look him in the eye. The fire, so common in his eyes when dealing with anyone else, is absent. Suddenly, I feel my anger leaving me and take in the situation. A father and son together in one room, one trying his best to reach out to the other but wasting his time. I realize at this point, although I respect and admire my father I do not love him. I resent what he has put me through and how he neglected me when I was a boy. I just hadn't realized it till now. I've buried more than I thought in the dark recesses of my mind.

Is that all Old Man?

Father turns away from me again to gaze out on his kingdom. His kingdom that he was so busy defending and building that he lost his wife and son in the process.

I have instructed the Turks to begin taking you out on field missions. When I am gone, it is imperative you are briefed in the arts of espionage. No one better than the Turks to teach you that. After all, the Turks are the core of the company. Brute strength such as our armies cannot function without prior intelligence to instruct them how to act.

I sigh. Another class. Another mission. Father changing my life again without any regard for my prior plans or engagements. I have never expressed a desire to engage in field work, but a prince does not argue with his king. That is of course, if the prince wishes to keep his head.

Yes father. I'll go straight away.

I turn to walk out of the office. Raindrops begin to patter against the glass. As I reach the door, I turn round to glance at my father again. I don't know if it's a trick of the light or not, but I swear I can see a tear glistening on his cheek.