It wasn't until later that I learned he was Herbert Delgado's uncle.
Three days later, I walked into a meeting with Delgado himself, carrying a thick stack of proposals.
He glanced at the first page and shook his head.
"Pinnacle doesn't have a Senior Designer on staff. You're not qualified."
The words hit me like a bucket of ice water, cold straight through to the bone.
But I wasn't ready to give up. I pulled out the certificates for my two national design awards.
"Mr. Delgado, I've already applied for my Senior certification. I meet all the requirements. It's just that the Housing Authority's approval process has been slow."
He looked at the two awards. The dismissiveness in his eyes faded, degree by degree.
"I've seen both of these winning designs. At the time, I remember thinking the designer had a remarkably intuitive sense of space. So that was you."
Only then did he start going through my proposals carefully, his expression growing more focused with every page.
"You did over a dozen variations for a single floor plan? Each one in a different style. You've got something going on up here." He tapped his temple.
My heart was racing, but I kept my face composed.