“A future that does not involve wearing a blue jumpsuit and getting his hands dirty for your amusement.”

“It’s not for her amusement,” Derek said.

His voice was quiet, but it had a new weight to it.

He set the wrench down on the metal workbench with a loud, metallic clink.

Helen blinked, surprised by the interruption.

“Pardon me?” she said.

“Sarah didn’t ask me to do this,” Derek said, stepping over the yellow tape.

“I asked her for the job.”

Helen let out a short, sharp laugh that sounded like dry twigs snapping.

“You asked to be a laborer?” she said.

“You have an MBA, Derek.”

“You should be managing assets, not carrying cables.”

She reached out and took his arm, her manicured fingers digging into the stiff fabric of his sleeve.

“Come along,” she said, pulling him gently but firmly toward the lobby doors.

“Your father has the car waiting at the curb.”

“We will go back to the hotel, get you changed, and look over the Vanguard materials.”

Derek did not move.

He stood his ground, his work boots planted firmly on the gray concrete.