Chapter 93

"Hi, uncle," Ethan said cheerfully into the phone, staring at a prop calendar on his bedside table, where he had been counting off the weeks with a pen. Then the months. It was the fifth month since Liam's coma. And the days cascaded headlong to birth the sixth. The sixth meant a problem.

Mr Griffin snorted from the other side of the wire. "Why the call this early morning? It's barely seven AM."

Ethan figured he was probably still on his bed. But that wouldn't stop him in any way.

"I called to apologize for—"

"There's nothing to apologize for, Ethan," his uncle cut in, anger evident in his voice. Ethan knew why, and had battled in vain to make up for it. "You failed at one tiny task. I don't know how to trust you anymore."

"Uncle Griffin, that was a corporate organization. I can't just barge in and rip a customer off her money."

"And the man," says Griffin, "who single-handedly sent a simple memo which got the said account frozen