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“I’m fine, Mother.”
Her smile fades, and she drifts back to the window because she’s never really been interested in small talk.
“I just opened a new bottle of McGrath whiskey,” my father says from his armchair. “Pour yourself a drink.”
There’s no hello, just an order.
I walk to the drinks cabinet and fill a crystal tumbler, pouring it straight, no ice. It’s not from obedience. I just need a fucking drink to get through this pantomime.
When I angle back to the room, my father gestures to the matching wingback chair opposite him. “Sit with me.”
I set the glass on the small side table next to me and pinch the knees of my trousers before lowering into the leather, the fire crackling and spitting in the silence.
He draws on his cigar and puffs out the smoke, so it swirls before his face. “I hear you bought the old scrapyard.”
I take a sip, considering him. “News travels.”
“It wasn’t on the market.”
“Everything’s on the market for the right price.”
His brows drift higher, and a subtle smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “So, I did teach you something.”
“The owner took some gentle persuading.”
“I imagine he did.”
He studies me through the smoke. “What are you planning to do with it?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“You don’t spend that kind of money without having a plan.”
“I’ll probably flatten it.”
“For?”
“A mix of development opportunities. Apartments, retail units. Depends what planning permission lets me get away with.”
He nods at that. “The place is an eyesore.”
“Which means the planning department will be happy to approve a change.”
Talking with him almost seems normal. Like old times, without the restrictions. However, my chest tightens when he drinks, and I’m thrown back ten years to the sixteen-year-old me waiting for his approval.
“I hear you’ve acquired three more properties near the waterfront as well.”
“I have.”
“Ambitious.”
“I’ve never lacked ambition.”
“No. You get that from me.” He says it so easily that I almost believe he’s being sincere.
For years I’ve chased exactly this. Not his money or his empire. Just the belief that he’d be proud enough to let me take the lead and do things my way.
I set my glass down.
