‘Sheeeesh, not this crap again!’, Liam fumed, inwardly.

From the teeth out, he tried to maintain his composure. This man, this supposed role model, this supposed paragon of virtue – had not feet of clay; oh, no. He had pumps of clay.

Peep-toe pumps, if you will.

Liam was taught to respect his elders and he was trying, he r-e-a-l-l-y was trying…

“Yeah, yeah, YEAH ! I GET it! It’s not your fault that H.M.S. Family sunk to the bottom of the sea, Dad.”

Oh, God, he didn’t want him to know he knew. It would mean hours-long soliloquies of invented sacrifice and endless rationalizations. Liam tried to run the images through his mental shredder but it jammed and his head screamed like grinding metal teeth.

“I need your contacts, man. If you don’t want to find your daughter, I’ll do it. Just don’t get in my way.”