Seeker by Arwen Elys Dayton

and leaned across the desk, staring down at Gavin. He could feel his face turning red, burning.Gavin looked ashamed and shrank into his chair, his eyes darting away from John’s.
    “Grandfather—you—you had Briac go after that French family? When Briac called about me, you
hired
him? You gave him money to do what he does? To get rid of them?”
    “I was desperate, John. I didn’t have you or your mother to do it for me. We’re in a corner! Now those companies are an easy target for us to acquire. Our fortunes—”
    “I don’t care about the money!” John yelled, pounding both fists on the table. “I don’t care about business! Catherine warned you
never
to use someone else.
Especially
not Briac. He’s— Don’t you see? This is more reason never to train me, never to let me succeed. Why should he, when you come to him? You’re letting him take control of our lives again—”
    “I
do
care about the money, John,” Gavin retorted, standing up across from him. He was keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t begin coughing again, but it carried the intensity of a yell. John realized that his grandfather looked strong for the first time in their conversation, but he also looked insane. When Gavin took another sip of tea, he was holding the handle so tightly, the cup shook. “I
do
care about the money. It was what I was promised when I chose your mother for my son. I thought I could keep things going when she died. I can’t. I couldn’t. I’m sorry!”
    He took another sip of tea, but he coughed as he did so, and the liquid splattered all over his desk. He looked at John with wild eyes, wiping the desk frantically with his sleeve. “They will not push me out! The ship, this wealth, this is my legacy, John. Mine, and yours. But if you fight me, if you scold me, I can’t be responsible for what I do!”
    His expression was completely mad now, eyes wide, tea dribbling down his chin.
    John couldn’t look at him. He let his eyes drop away, and when they did, his gaze came to rest on the cabinet behind his grandfather’s desk. The doors were ajar, and inside he could see several open boxes and messy piles of clothing and mechanical items. These were all completely out of character for Gavin’s office, which was always businesslike and perfectly clean.
    Curious now, John looked over all of the items visible through the open cabinet doors. There was a dirty tool kit on the bottom shelf, the kind a mechanic might have for fixing old cars, with oil-stained wrenches and a small blowtorch for welding. And there were actual car parts as well—a vintage gearshift, a grimy contraption from inside a gasoline engine. Next to these were jumbled piles of T-shirts and jackets, which looked like they belonged to a male teenager.
    John understood at once. These were Archie’s things. They had belonged to his father, to Gavin’s son. Archie had liked cars. It was one of the few things Gavin had told John about him. He’d mentioned this hobby proudly, years ago, and John had been happy to know something about Archie, but in truth, fixing old cars was so far removed from the focus of his own life that it had made him feel sad, as though he and his father would have been strangers.
    Gavin had boxed and stored his son’s possessions years earlier, saying it was the only way he could continue to live his life after the devastation of Archie’s death. But here he was, wallowing in the memory of his long-dead boy.
    Now that he was looking, John spotted streaks of grease on Gavin’s suit and traces of it under the old man’s fingernails and on his palms. He’d been handling Archie’s things, maybe sitting alone in here for hours with these items, lost in the past. This was so unlike Gavin Hart that John wondered,
How far gone is he?
    John didn’t care about the family wealth. But, in truth, he needed his grandfather’s resources and men. He needed them right now, inorder to get the athame. Even though Gavin was clearly in no