Whatever came next, this family was about to split wide open.
Brian made the mistake of smirking.
I call it a mistake because if he had blustered less—if he had played the patient son a little longer—Ethan might have taken me to dinner, listened to my excuses, and waited until morning before digging deeper. But Brian had inherited his father’s worst habit: mistaking years of getting away with something for proof that it was legal.
“What, you think because you wear a nice coat and flew in from Chicago, you can lecture me about my own house?” Brian said.
Ethan didn’t react. He reached into his portfolio, pulled out a business card, and handed it across the small space between them.
Brian glanced at it, and his face changed.
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