"Ali," the older woman sitting behind the desk squealed. "It's been ages."

Nora, the receptionist at Stinson Studios left the safety of her chair and rushed Ali, embracing her in the type of hug people usually reserve for long lost family members. The diminutive 5-foot hurricane was an institution at her family's company, greeting guests for as long as Ali could remember.

Ali, returning the squeeze. "It's good to see you too."

"Now let's get a proper look at you." Holding Ali at arm's length, Nora surveyed Ali in her pale blue summer dress with matching heels, twirling her around once. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but that east coast air must be good for you. You look wonderful."

Ali had the sneaking suspicion she could show up after three days of no sleep dressed in a paper bag and Nora would think she looked great, but she appreciated the comment and thanked her for it.

The smile lighting up Nora's face dulled a little. "And how's your father?"

For days there had been no change in Daniel Stinson's condition. Ali watched her mother fuss over him, insisting the nurses could not do anything right. They spent hours together, sitting by his bed struggling to come up with something to talk about. Ali was no longer interested in gossip about her mother's social circle. Lynn never inquired about her daughter's life in New York aside from pondering where Evelyn got the lovely coat she was wearing in a recent tabloid picture.

When her mother suggested Ali take the afternoon off, it wasn't a hard decision. The family business was on her mind, wondering how it was doing without her father's steady hand at the wheel.

The phone started ringing and Nora jumped back behind the reception desk to pick it up. Ali gestured to the door to the heart of the company, the manufacturing floor and Nora buzzed her in.

Her father had two offices. One was the official 'Chairman of the Board' grand affair located in the front portion of the building, close to the executive boardroom and bathrooms. A broad oak desk, maroon leather-bound chair, portraits of Stinson ancestor's covering the walls. This was where clients were impressed, deals were struck and annual bonuses were discussed. Nora kept the desk clear of clutter, his coffee hot and ensured there was always ice on hand for his scotch.

The other office was a picture of opposition. Tucked away on the second floor of the factory area, it was crammed with files, designs and a selection of mismatched chairs that should have been an embarrassment to a company that made furniture for a living. Large windows overlooked the organized mayhem of the constant assembly of things going on below.

It seemed to Ali there were also two versions of her father, depending on which office he was occupying. Like the front office, when in use, Daniel Stinson was formal, tight-lipped, three-piece suits and shiny shoes. This persona leaked into the real world, visible at the country club, restaurants and even at home whenever company was around.

But like only a handful of others, Ali knew a different side of her father. She wondered if her mother ever got to experience the man who worked in the back office, his jacket off, tie slightly loosened, discussing plans for a new design. The way his eyes would light up during a heated debate with one of the engineers. The quick sharp movements as he sketched out his ideas, preferring pictures over words to tell his story.

Scooting into the small room, Ali shut the door behind her, the clamouring racket of the manufacturing floor below giving way to a muffled music. Eyes closed, resting her head against the door she inhaled the earthy scent of wood mixed with varnish.

Opening her eyes, she took in the silent space. Without her father in the room, it felt different. Hollow. A mixture of emotions crept into her heart, each vying for dominance.

Sadness settled in. Here she missed her father. The man who let her sit beside him at the beaten-up desk before her, asking her opinion on a set of drawings. His deep voice carefully explaining the difference between oak, mahogany and pine. The rumble of his laughter as he shared a joke with the foreman.

It was here in this office Ali had come to understand the family business and its role in their lives. She studied her father, watching joy erupt on his face when announcing raises to the workers or how he handled the struggle of having to fire someone. She soaked it all in, asked questions, tried to comprehend the reasons this or that happened. As a child, she thought her father was a titan.

The first chip in his veneer came after a summer of working alongside her father. Proud of herself, learning the names of everyone who worked in the building, a teenage Ali pronounced to him her intentions to take over the family business. No need for a little brother. She was up to the task. Patting her on the head, Daniel Stinson had replied it was none of her concern, he would find someone good enough to take over the business.

Ali remembered the sting of his words. Still felt it today, echoing down the halls of her memories. The truth was she knew exactly why she was not worthy – her lack of a Y chromosome. She wanted to pretend it was otherwise.

Sometimes she made up excuses like her father wanted a better life for her. Hand-crafted furniture did not have the same allure as it did. Nowadays consumers wanted furniture they could pick up on demand and assemble with an Allen key in an hour.

Other times she tried to convince herself dear ol' dad was worried about her managing in a predominantly male workforce. Only a few of the artists who crafted the fine furniture or the builders who constructed the final designs were women.

The thing was, deep down inside, Ali wanted it. Wanted to run the business. Wanted to sit in this back office and talk shop with the foreman or forewoman. Even wanted to wine and dine the clients in the front office. She felt it in her bones. This business was a part of her. More than just her last name. It was in her blood.

Leaving the office, Ali made her way through the manufacturing floor. Stopping now and again to chat with the workers she knew, asking them about their families or what they were occupied with. Noticing a heavy tarp-like screen covering the area where most of the larger dining room tables were usually set to dry after the varnishing process, Ali drew closer.

"Nothing to see there." Ali turned to find Lester, one of the longest members of the company. What Lester could do with wood was akin to what Michelangelo did with marble.

"What do you mean?"

Lester pointed to the filmy material. Ali pulled it back to see nothing. Just a cavernous space. One lone chair moulded in a tacky shiny white plastic material sat off in a corner, its spikey chrome coloured legs sitting unevenly on the concrete floor. In a manufacturing factory, there was never room for an area to sit empty. She gave Lester a quizzical look.

"Twas cleared out yesterday."

"Why?"

"Rumour has it this is for a new product line."

Ali felt a rush of adrenaline, encouraged the company was branching out into something new. It was about time. There was something to be said for classic designs, but her father had not kept the company up with the times. Chippendale-style furniture had its place, but more modern wooden designs were needed to stay competitive. Today's customers wanted sleek lines and sharp corners.

However, Lester was making a face as if he had bitten into a sour apple.

"You don't approve?"

Like many people, Lester was usually slow to change. Once her father had suggested trying a light brown varnish instead of their classic caramel colour for a coffee table and Lester had refused to talk to him for a week.

"Nope. How am I supposed to work with plastic?"

"Plastic. That can't be right." Ali regarded the open space. "Dad hates the stuff. Says its cheap."

"Yeah, well your dad's not in charge now, is he?"

Ali felt her jaw set. He would not. Her father was only out temporarily. "Lester, are you saying Jack Blackhorne arranged this?"

Lester almost spat out the words. "The one and only."

"Right. Well. I've been meaning to have a little chat with my ex-husband."

"Good luck finding the man. He's never here. There are things piling up that need a board of directors sign-off. Mr. Blackborne refuses to let us contact anyone, claiming your dad will be back soon."

"Hmmm...," Ali bit her lip for a moment. "Last time I checked Lester, I'm a board member." Daniel liked to use family as swing votes in any disputes. Both she and her mother were listed as board members.

Lester's piercing grey eyes narrowed and the corner of his mouth curled. "Why yes, Ms. Stinson, yes you are."