Brandon lowered his voice. “Dad. I made a mistake.”
“No. A mistake is missing a turn. A mistake is forgetting an appointment. You hit your father thirty times in front of your wife and guests.”
“You were counting?”
“Yes.”
The word sat between us like a loaded weapon.
Amber whispered something I couldn’t hear.
Brandon inhaled. “I was angry.”
“So was I.”
“You pushed me.”
“I reminded you who paid for the roof over your head.”
“You always do this,” he said. “You always hold money over me.”
“No, Brandon. I held back the truth from you. There’s a difference.”
For a moment, I heard only office noise behind him. Phones. A printer. Someone laughing in the distance, unaware that my son’s life was coming apart while he stood under fluorescent lights in a tailored suit.
Then Brandon said, “I’ll sue.”
Martin sonrió débilmente.
“You’re welcome to try,” I told him. “Martin Delaney is sitting across from me. He reviewed every document before the sale.”
