Logan and Albert sat down at the long dining table.
‘Where’s Arlie?’ Logan asked.
‘Still at school.’ Albert tied the bib around his neck.
His hands, which used to be able to hold a sniper rifle for hours without moving, weren’t as steady as they used to be.
Logan frowned.
He checked his watch. ‘It’s twenty minutes past seven. What school would keep a five-year-old at this hour?’
Albert’s lips twitched, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. ‘Maybe if you’d been more involved, you’d know.’
Logan’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing slightly. ‘I am involved, Grandpa.’
Albert snorted softly. ‘Involved in your businesses, perhaps. But what about in Arlie’s life?’
Logan’s fingers tapped rhythmically against his glass. ‘He’s my son, of course I care.’
Albert’s gaze didn’t
