"I have been waiting for you."
Christopher froze, his steps faltering as he took in the sight of Ethan, seated with an unnerving stillness in the living room.
"Dad? Why... Why are you waiting for me?" Christopher managed, a tremor of fabricated unease lacing his voice.
Ethan's gaze, sharp and assessing, fixed on his eldest son. A single eyebrow arched almost imperceptibly. "Sit down," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument.
With a sigh that held more resignation than compliance, Christopher crossed the space and sank onto the couch opposite his father.
The silence that descended was thick and heavy, each passing second amplifying the underlying tension. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ethan's voice cut through the quiet.
"Where did your money come from?"
'Well... I knew this was coming, but did he have to be so intense about it?' Christopher mused internally, outwardly stating with a casualness he didn't feel.
"I have businesses, Father." He answered.
