"I can schedule a meeting with Mr. Sadler for next Tuesday at 9:30."
"You don't understand. My name is Jason Sadler. I'm his son."
When you walk past the PA's desk, he leaps up from his chair to block your path.
"I'm under strict orders, sir. No visitors without an appointment."
You're torn between threatening to fire the man and appealing to his compassionate side. There is a picture of his family on the desk - a husband and two children. All you've ever wanted was a real relationship with your father, but lately he won't return your calls. He won't visit on most holidays either, and he doesn't reach out to you unless he needs something. It's not just since you've gone to university, when families usually lose touch. (Especially since you traveled far away, attending MIT in Boston and interning at the Niels Bohr Institute in Copenhagen.) You were still a child when he withdrew his affection, like he'd forgotten he had a son at all until someone reminded him.
"Please. I haven't seen him in months."
The PA stares you down until you back away from the door.
"Then you should have made an appointment."
You reluctantly comply. After a brief, tense silence, you comment, "You have a lovely family," gesturing to the picture.
"Thank you," he says cautiously.
"How old are your daughters?"
"Seven and ten."
"I don't have any children, not yet. But if I did..."
You let the incomplete thought hang in the air.
"I'm sorry Mr. Sadler, but I have to ask you to leave."
With one last look at your father's door, (and he probably isn't there after all), you turn to go, saying, "I'll be back Tuesday at 9:30."