“Me?” Janine laughed outright. “I’m going to change Zachary Thomas?” she repeated in wide-eyed disbelief. That would be the day!

“Before you argue with me, and I can see that’s what you’re dying to do, I have a story I want to tell you. A rather sad one as it happens.”

Janine picked up the remote control and snapped off the television. She’d often listened to her grandfather’s parables. “So tell me.”

“It’s about a boy, born on the wrong side of the tracks to an alcoholic father and a weak mother. He never had much of a chance in life. His father was abusive enough for the state to remove the lad and his younger sister. He was barely eight and subjected to a long series of foster homes, but he refused to be separated from his sister. He’d promised her he’d always take care of her.

“Once, there wasn’t any alternative and the two were sent to separate homes. Beside himself with worry for his sister, the young boy ran away. The authorities were in a panic, but three days later, he turned up two hundred miles away at the home where they’d placed Beth Ann.”

“He probably felt responsible for her.”

“Yes. Which made matters much worse when she drowned in a swimming accident. He was twelve at the time.”

“Oh, no.” A pain squeezed Janine’s heart at the agony the boy had suffered.

“He blamed himself, of course,” Anton said softly.

“The poor kid.”

“This lad never seemed to belong to anyone after that,” Gramps said, staring into his brandy. “He never quite fit in, but that wasn’t entirely his fault.” He paused to take another puff of his cigar. “His mother died a month after his sister. They were the only ones who’d ever truly loved him. He lost contact with his father, which was probably for the best. So his family was gone and no one seemed to want this troubled, hurting boy.”

“Did he turn into a juvenile delinquent?” It made sense to Janine that he would; she’d dealt with a number of troubled teenagers through her volunteer work and was familiar with the tragic patterns that so often evolved in cases like this.

“No, I can’t say he did.” Gramps dismissed her question with a shake of his head, more interested in continuing his tale than getting sidetracked by her questions. “He drifted through adolescence without an anchor and without ever being allowed to enjoy those formative years.”

“Gramps—”

He raised his hand to stop her. “When he was eighteen, he joined the military. He did well, which isn’t surprising, considering his intelligence and the fact that he had little regard for his own well-being. There was no one to mourn if he died. Because of his courage, he advanced quickly, volunteering for the riskiest assignments. He traveled all over the world to some of the most dangerous political hot spots. His duties were often top secret. There’s no telling how far he might have gone had he chosen to remain in the armed services, but for some reason, he resigned. No one understood why. I suspect he wanted to start his life over. This was when he opened a business-supply company. Within a year, he had my attention. His methods were aggressive and creative. I couldn’t help admiring the way he handled himself and the company. Within five years, he’d become one of my most serious rivals. I saw a strength in him that age had stolen from me. We met. We talked. As a result of these talks we joined forces.”