James was halfway through a sentence to tax counsel when his father's number strobed again on the phone. He let it ring once out of habit, then answered.
“Upstairs," his father said. “Now."
“I'm in the middle—"
“Now." The line went dead.
James closed his laptop with a click that sounded like regret. He told counsel, “Send the amended schedule by four," and took the stairs two at a time.
The townhouse felt colder than morning. His father stood by the television, remote in hand, jaw set. He didn't gesture for a seat. He pressed play.
Onscreen, a clipped two minutes from the afternoon: a podium, a logo, Harrison in a dark suit saying, “We will be brief," then Evelyn in a black dress, shoulders square, voice even: “We appreciate everyone's attention. We have no further comments about our
