"Grandpa, actually I—"
Tracy's words were cut short by a rhythmic knock at the door—each tap pounding like a drumbeat, impossible to ignore.
With a sigh, she swung the door open, only to freeze. Towering before her was Gordon, his striking eyes hidden behind sleek black shades, but the intensity in his brow? Undiminished—if anything, sharper.
What on earth was he doing here?
The moment Gordon learned Joseph had secretly summoned Tracy, he'd dropped everything. Morris, the ever-dutiful butler waiting outside, had spilled the details: a private meeting, just the two of them.
Tracy's jaw nearly hit the floor as Gordon craned his neck past her, scanning the room before striding in like he owned the place. There sat Joseph, spine ruler-straight on the sofa—every inch the patriarch.
Sneaki
