“I will find the ‘offender,’” young Colby said. “I have a good idea what happened, and who is responsible! And if I’m wrong, I know where to start after that.”

“Son…”

Now he pointed at his father and it was accusatory. “You shut-up. Shut-up and stay out of my life, old man! You interfere in my private affairs and I will walk out of here and leave you to pick up the pieces.” He turned to me again. “This old fool hasn’t done a thing for this firm for ten years! The ancient mariner here has no idea what it takes to run a company like this, in this day and age! I doubt he knows how to turn on a computer!”

I knew. Velda had taught me.

Colby lurched forward and his father, still seated, backed away, frightened, as his son’s fist came down, and I was poised to go for the raving ranter myself; but the base of the blow was meant for the table, and it connected, making everything on that coffee table jump.

Then Vincent Colby stormed out and slammed the door behind him.

We sat in silence for a while broken only by the gentle lapping of flames. Fortunately my coffee cup had been in my hand and not on the coffee table. I took a drink. Vance Colby had a hand over his face and was doing his best not to sob. His best wasn’t enough.

I waited.

Soon he was dabbing at his face with a handkerchief. “I…I apologize, Mr. Hammer.”

I smiled at him, just a gentle thing. “Mike, remember? Families are tough sometimes.”

The smaller Colby gestured with both hands, as if balancing two objects. “That’s just the thing! We’ve always been close, Vincent and I. Always. His mother died when he was seven and we’ve been best friends ever since. Never a harsh word between us. Until…”

I frowned. “Until the accident?”

He nodded. “Yes. I am assured by the medical experts that my son will fully recover, but…it may take time. Vincent is on medication and he is seeing a psychiatrist on a daily basis. So far it’s…frankly, it’s not doing any good.” He swallowed. “But it’s early. It’s early yet.”

“Has there been an impact on his work?”

His shrug was elaborate. “Vincent’s working only half days—seeing the shrink in the afternoons, sometimes his physician, as well. There are…occasional explosions of temper. He’s always been a charmer where the staff is concerned—a bit manipulative perhaps, but that’s not a bad thing in this game. He has not, at least not as yet, evinced any signs of violent behavior.”

My eyes got big as I pointed to the door Vincent had stormed through minutes ago. “What the hell would you call that?”

He lifted a hand. “No signs of physical violence, I should say. He’s been short with his people, and lost it with them, and they understand, but it shakes them. It’s so unlike him. He’s been such a great boss to them. He also…oh, Mr. Hammer. This is hard.”