68 Bronson

To say my father was disappointed would be an understatement.

My older brother and sister, Anderson and Clara, had found their passion. Neither was what my father wanted, but in his mind, neither had stabbed him in the back either. Anderson was a police officer, and Clara was doing well as an artist. My father hated that they didn’t follow in his footsteps, but he still had one more child, one more person to get his claws into and to bring him aboard.

He still had me.

“So, when I broke his heart and told him I wanted to not only get to know my grandfather, but to one day take over his business, he refused to speak to me. That was over four years ago.”

Nikki’s eyes water as I finish my story. The bottle of bourbon half empty in front of the two of us on the coffee table. I had never told anyone my story before, and when my grandfather retired a few years ago, passing the torch down to me, I was well and truly alone.

“And none of your family has spoken to you either?”