The housekeeper met Jackson at the door with a folded look. “Your father is in the study," she said. “He asked for you."
Jackson shrugged off his coat. “Of course he did."
“Now," she added.
Jackson's mouth tightened. “Fine." He handed her the coat and walked down the hall lined with family portraits that never moved. At the study, he paused with his hand on the brass handle, then went in.
His father sat behind the desk the way he always did: back straight, fingers steepled, eyes like a ledger. “Close it," he said without hello.
Jackson closed the door. “I've been at the hospital for two days," he said. “Make it quick."
His father gestured to the chair. “Sit."
Jackson remained standing. “Say what you want."
“What I want," his father said, “is an end to drift. Your fiancée has been u
