Old Mrs. Sterling leaned closer, her eyes twinkling with mischief despite her frail condition.
"Arthur is terrified of cats," she whispered conspiratorially. "Absolutely petrified! Has been since he was a little boy."
I blinked, processing this unexpected revelation. "Cats? Really?"
"Oh yes," she nodded emphatically. "When he was five, a stray cat jumped on his head at the park. Poor thing screamed for an hour straight. Wouldn't go near the garden for weeks!"
I couldn't help but smile at the image of little Arthur—the man who now commanded boardrooms with an iron fist—running from a harmless kitten.
"He'd deny it to his dying breath, of course," Mrs. Sterling continued. "But last Christmas, my neighbor brought her Persian cat to dinner. You should have seen him! Made every excuse to stay on the opposite side of the room."
