Tao Zhao honestly had no idea what was going on.
Usually, when work needed to be handed over, he’d deal with Mr. McKee—end of story. Catching a glimpse of the chairman at a company-wide meeting was rare enough. For someone like him, stuck in middle management, meeting Mr. Padilla face-to-face was almost impossible.
But today? He’d been invited up to the top floor for tea. Just him and the boss—talking about his family, of all things.
Was he about to get promoted? Fired? Did the chairman think his life was too comfortable and wanted to give him some extra stress to keep him on his toes?
Tao felt like his brain was about to fry itself from the stress. He just couldn’t figure out what the chairman was thinking, and for someone at his level, none of this made any sense.
“How old is he?” Oliver asked again, breaking the silence.
Tao swallowed and answered carefully, “He’s twenty-two.”
Oliver looked completely relaxed, like he was just making small talk with a neighbor. Every question came out calm and casual, so normal that Tao couldn’t even guess what he was getting at.
“In his prime,” Mr. Padilla said with a nod. Then, “What about hobbies? Does he have any?”
Tao almost choked.
Hobbies? How was he supposed to know?
Everyone knew guys like him—making millions a year—were always busy, and their happiness was nowhere near as high as someone making minimum wage. His wife handled everything at home and with the kids. His only job was to keep the money flowing in.
He woke up every day and went straight to work. Hobbies? Who had time for those?
“He just graduated, so he hangs out with his friends, but nothing special.”
“Is that so?” Oliver took a sip of tea, looking thoughtful.
The oolong today wasn’t top shelf, but it was drinkable. Tea was all about the year, the roast, the technique—you missed one, and the whole thing fell flat.
“Does your son drink tea?” Mr. Padilla asked.
Tao felt like he was sitting on hot coals. Why was the chairman so interested in his son? Was he trying to play matchmaker or something?

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