He leaned his hips against the sink and took a sip from his own mug.

“I promised you a better kitchen back then.”

He gestured to the professional gas stove and the copper pots hanging from the ceiling rack.

“We built a good life, Alyssa.”

I took a sip of the coffee.

It was perfectly balanced, sweet and strong, exactly the way I liked it.

He was trying to remind me that we shared a long history from before Prescott Technologies existed.

For a fraction of a second, sitting in my father’s kitchen, I thought about telling him about the blue folders.