Tyler
Roland had a thing about breakfast.
Not in the way most people did — not just eating it, but sitting with it. No phones on the table. No business until the plates were cleared.
He'd had that rule for as long as I could remember, and it applied whether you were a business partner, a family member, or apparently a nephew who showed up at seven in the morning with no sleep and a problem the size of a small country.
So we ate.
Eggs. Toast. Coffee that was significantly better than anything I managed to make at home. I didn't try to start the conversation and he didn't push me.
When the plates were cleared and the second round of coffee was poured, he sat back and looked at me.
"Right," he said. "Talk."
So I did.
I went through all of it. The threats. The photos. Alexis getting
