DAMIAN BLACKWOOD
That night and on my return, I had a very long talk with my father. We sat on either side of a table in his room, father to son, and there remained quiet for so long that I wondered if we were going to say anything at all.
"You didn't tell me a deal with the Blacks was what was on your mind. I hate that family." He began, looking me over.
"I did what was best for us to do. You'll see it in a few months, and you will know that I made the right choice."
"I trust you, boy. I know I raised you well, and feel pride over what you did. But I still hate the Blacks," he said, bringing out a video recording of me speaking to Michael Black and playing it. There was a look of pride on his face, but I could only think of how someone had recorded me without knowing. I felt an inne
