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Leopold grew up loved and revered by those around him. Being his father’s son, he was brilliant. He excelled in every intellectual task asked of him and advanced far beyond the expectations placed on him. It was no wonder he stood where he was, behind a desk with a polished name plate in a sleek office overlooking the bustling Los Angeles.
Still, something was missing. He’d spent most of his life putting his brains to use, pushing the technological world further and further, accumulating patents by the hundreds and making ridiculous amounts of money doing it. His mother lived in a several million-dollar home, goddammit! What could be missing in a life so completely charmed?
Leopold glanced out the window, frowning down at the streets below where cars rushed by. With a quiet sigh, he turned and pressed the button for his intercom.
“Would you send in the assistant?” He sat down and pinched the arch of his nose in frustrated thought. A moment later, the door to his office opened and he looked up.
“Good morning, Mr. Fitz. What can I do for you today?” Her hair was tucked back neatly into a low ponytail and her smile was kind, yet distant.
“Ms. Kipling, I’d like you to check in on the newest program for me. I want them up and running within the next 2 weeks. There’s an order to fulfill and the demands of the public to meet.” He looked back down to his desk and shuffled through a few of the papers, plucking one from the pile and handing it over to Ms. Kipling. “See to it that nothing disrupts the program.”
“Yes sir.” With that, she left Leopold to be alone once again in his large, quiet office.
A beep rang out from his computer and Leopold sat down to read the message delivered.
[Your father wants to see you soon.]
With a sigh, he replied to the message from his mother. [He can see me on the news.]
[He wants to talk to you about some program. He said it’s important.]
[The program is none of his business.]
[I know you don’t want him involved in your life but I think it’s important that you see him. He’s been talking about some girl you knew back during university, I think he said her name was Jenna?]
His lips parted in surprise as he stared at the screen. Quickly, he replied. [Jemma? You mean Jemma Simmons? What about her?] He remembered her. He hadn't really known her. They hadn’t been in any classes together but he’d heard of her incredible talents in bio-chemistry. He’d taken note of her skills as well as her beauty. At one point, he’d fancied himself a little bit smitten with her, though only from afar. All the confidence in the world never made him very good at romance.
[She died in an accident a few years ago. That’s all I know.]
[Alright, I’ll talk to him. Tell him to meet me tonight at my office, 7PM]
Leopold turned away from the screen, suddenly the feeling of missing something came back full force, bringing wetness to his eyes. He hadn’t known what had become of Jemma Simmons after they graduated. He’d assumed she’d been snatched up by some company and wooed by some handsome suitor. He hadn’t known she was killed.
As soon as he processed that, a slew of questions came to him in rapid fire. Why does father want to talk about her? What does she have to do with my program? How did she die?
For once, he had only questions and no answers.
With a glance to the right wall of his office, he looked over all the degrees he had framed, surrounded by pictures of him shaking hands with important people as well as two or three of him with his mother. In the very corner was a single photo of him with his mother and father, each with a hand on his 6-year-old shoulders, smiling proudly at the camera. In his young hands, Leopold Fitz held an award for 1st place in the school’s science fair.
Having a genius for a father meant that Leopold excelled much faster than other kids but also meant he always felt inferior to his father. That feeling of being in his shadow had caused him to distance himself from the man, determined to make a name for himself separate from the reputation of his father.
Sharply, Fitz stood and plucked the photo from the wall, quickly depositing it into a drawer in his desk.
Sentimentality is the enemy of intellect.