The silence in the boardroom was painful to hear.
I could hear the faint click of Arnold Johnson's gold fountain pen tapping. The sound of an old predator calculating the cost of survival.
Slowly, Arnold's hand retreated from the internal treasury telephone. He rested both palms flat against the obsidian table.
"You played me," Arnold said. His voice carried the weight of four decades of undisputed rule. "Both of you."
"Nobody played you, Father," Sam replied calmly, his hand resting on the polished handle of his graphite cane. "You set the rules of this house. You said yourself that profit will determine standing. That capital will determine authority. You told us that sentimentality is a disease."
"Father, don't listen to him!" Gabriel shrieked, his voice cracking like dry wood.
He slammed his fists onto the table, rattling the crystal glasses.
