He just couldn’t remember where.)
“Your grandfather,” he repeated.
“Yes,” she said.
“Who is your grandfather?”
She looked at the empty chair.
Then at the portrait above the fireplace.
The founder.
As he had looked at forty.
Before time and success had changed him.
“Him,” she said.
The room erupted again.
Louder this time.
She waited for it to settle.
Then reached into her torn dress.
Placed something on the table.
Small.
Gold.
The family seal.
Solid gold.
Made in 1953.
One of a kind.
Buried — the family had been told — with the patriarch himself.
Thirty years ago.
The oldest son sat down.
Slowly.
Like his legs had made the decision before his mind did.
He looked at the seal.
