And throughout the majority of those seven years, I was convinced I understood him better than almost anyone else within the company.
I knew the exact way he preferred his coffee—black, devoid of sugar, never consumed past three in the afternoon. I knew which clients had the power to elicit a sigh from him before he even lifted the receiver. I knew that Tuesday mornings were typically the least opportune time to present him with a complex dilemma, whereas Friday afternoons, as the office grew still, were frequently when he turned unexpectedly reflective.
I was familiar with his routines, his shifts in mood, his calendar, and the minute details most individuals simply overlooked.
Yet, on one particular Friday afternoon, at a quiet park located ten minutes away from our offices, I came to realize there was one aspect of Richard Bennett I had fundamentally misread:
His true motives.
The Beginning
