Do not set foot in my office. that's dad's rule. but the phone had rung twenty-five times. normal people give up after ten or eleven, unless it's a matter of life or death. don't they? dad's got an answering machine with big reels of tape. but he's stopped leaving it switched on recently. thirty rings, the phone got to. julia couldn't hear it up in her converted attic 'cause "don't you want me? " by human league was thumping out loud. forty rings. mom couldn't hear 'cause the washing machine was on berserk cycle and she was vacuuming the living room. fifty rings. that's just not normal. s'pose dad'd been mangled by a juggernaut on i-10, and the police only had this office number 'cause all his other i. d.'d got incinerated? we could lose our final chance to see our charred father in the terminal ward.
so i went in. dad's office smells of money, papery but metallic too. the blinds were down, so it felt like evening, not ten in the morning. there's a serious clock on the wall, exactly the same make as the serious clocks on the walls at school. there's a photo of dad shaking hands with craig salt when dad got made regional sales director for greenland. (greenland the supermarket chain, not greenland the country.) dad's ibm computer sits on the steel desk. thousands of dollars, ibms cost. the office phone is red like a nuclear hotline, and it's got buttons you push, not the dial you get on normal phones. so anyway, i took a deep breath, picked up the receiver, and said our number. i can say that without stammering, at least. usually. but the person on the other end didn't answer.

which point of view does the author use in this story?