“And you are, somehow?” She pushed on, pettier than ever. “What, did you figure out a way to increase their profits by euthanizing everyone over the age of sixty-five?”

“Very funny.”

“Oh, I’m not joking.”

Her eyes flitted over to the sliding doors, where the latecomers, Sophie and Guy, were looking on in horror. She should have been embarrassed for getting into another argument but, in her current state, their presence barely registered.

“I actually worked with Santander for three years on their initiative for—” he continued, before she cut him off with a venomous intensity.

“Oh, that’s hilarious, because Santander bank was the one that gave my dad that predatory business loan.”

“I wasn’t giving out small business loans.”

“Right, of course,” she hissed, “you were just destroying people’s livelihoods from a distance. My father always said that Santander—”

“That’s exactly what we need right now, a cab driver’s take on international finance.”

As soon as the words left Danial’s lips, his face crumpled in remorse. The group seemed to sit back in unison as they registered the gratuitous cruelty of his comment.

“Come on, man,” Dev whispered, shaking his head.

Alex was stunned to silence, still perched forward on the bench but unable to formulate a sufficient defense of her father. Sophie and Bee shot each other a meaningful look from across the deck.

“Alex,” Danial opened, standing up to walk toward her. The sun was behind him, casting his wavy hair in a crown of light as he approached, illuminating the warmth of his complexion. She felt herself rise with an impenetrable tangle of emotion at this beautiful man, who could have been so much more than what he chose to become: the emptiest version of himself.

When he spoke again, it was in a whisper only she could hear. “Can we go somewhere to talk, please?” A pause, as their eyes locked wordlessly and his forehead knitted with regret. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” He was full of pleading intensity, soft the way he had been with his mother.

She stood up slowly, willing herself to be stoic and devoid of emotion. He would get nothing from her, not even her pity.

“My father.” Her voice was almost silent, inches from his face. She chose her next words carefully. “The cab driver— My father is ten times the man you will ever be. And I remember the Danial who had respect for hard work. Should we call your mother back and tell her what you just said to me?”

“You’re right,” he offered, defeated. “You’re absolutely right.”