The Walker residence felt different in the morning.
Damian had been here twice before — both times in the evening, both times under the specific pressure of a situation that required resolution. The evening quality of the place was formal. Heavy with the accumulated authority of a family that had shaped this city for generations.
In the morning it was just a house.
Large. Old. Precisely maintained. But light coming through the east windows in the way that morning light came through windows, indifferent to history.
Richard's assistant showed them into the study.
Then, apparently reading the quality of Kendrick's expression, left without announcing them.
Richard was at his desk.
He looked up.
He saw Kendrick.
He saw Damian.
He closed what he was reading.
"Sit down," he said.
"No," Kendrick said.
A pause.
Richard looked at his son.
Then at Damian.
Then back at his son.
"Tell me what you know," he said.
