“Why?”

“Because nothing would give me more pleasure than to donate his earthly hoard to the charities he most hated, and he’s aware of it.”

Riveting, all of this. Some real Succession shit. “Would you mind if I asked you approximately two hundred highly unseemly and increasingly intrusive questions about your dysfunctional family? Don’t say yes, please. You already know all about me, after all.”

“Do I?”

I shrug. “You know the heartrending parts that make people look at me like I’m the most banged-up apple at the supermarket. It’s only fair that you share yours.”

His full lips twitch, a small smile that softens his angular face. “I’m here at your service, Trouble.”

“Does your father know how you feel?”

“That’s the wrong question.”

“How so?”

“My father doesn’t give a fuck about anyone’s interior life. He’s a bully who doesn’t see other humans as living beings with feelings. In his world view, every relationship can be conceptualized in terms of power. Every interaction is a wrestling match, and the only acceptable endgame is him coming out on top.” He takes a leisurely sip of his coffee, like he didn’t just describe Narcissism 101, The Musical.

“Why is he like that?”

“Fucked-up genetics and formative years? My grandfather raised him to think that kindness was a weakness. My father raised us to think that cruelty is strength. Shaped us in his image and likeness, with varying degrees of success.”

“He failed with you, though.”

He shakes his head. “Out of all of us, I’m the most similar to him.”

“No, you’re not.” I laugh, genuinely amused. “You’re here, with me.”

“Only because I was in the area. And I need Eli to focus on the—”

“On the Mayers deal, yeah. Except, you were in another country, Conor. And as you mentioned, you are Harkness’s assistant to the regional manager, or whatever, and could have easily finished up that deal yourself.” Our breakfast plates arrive. When I pick up a slice of toast and defiantly chew it in his face, he turns his head to hide a smile. “If you’re so heartless, why did you even come to Europe? Wouldn’t you want your father to die alone?”

“I told you, I came for my stepmother.” He shoves an entire tomato in his mouth in a single bite, somehow gracefully, and then takes his time chewing it. “My siblings tend to gang up on her.”

“Why?”

“They see her as a gold digger who married my father for his money.”

“How come?”

“Probably because she is a gold digger who married my father for his money.” He seems unbothered. “But she’s been putting up with his shit for nearly ten years. Whatever riches she’ll walk away with, they’re earned.”

“Oh. Will she…have long enough to enjoy the fruits of her labors, once he dies?”

“I hope so, since she’s younger than me.”

I almost swallow my tongue. “What?”

“Only by a few months.”

“This feels…” I tilt my head, wondering what Conor’s lines are, what his reactions might be to have them crossed. “Fucked up?”