Hawkins took his hands off the chair he was holding out for Slick. He didn’t bother to say anything but just followed his teammates out to the foyer, where they dressed and left.

Outside, the snow continued to fall. “What the hell was that all about?” Hawkins demanded.

“If you’re too stupid to know, then you aren’t the person I thought you were,” Slick snapped.

“Yeah,” the others said as they trudged across the compound.

“We’re supposed to be a team, so start acting like you’re an active member. It’s one for all and all for one,” Zoe snarled.

And the war was on.

The score was one for Team Three.

Zero for the Establishment.

And it was just round one.

At eight o’clock, the last of the staff departed for their quarters. Kyros had the kitchen cleaned and the leftover food stored in the refrigerator. He’d made up dinners that two of his staff had delivered to Team Three unbeknownst to Pappy. He was sitting on one of the kitchen stools enjoying his cup of coffee and his new pipe.

Another Christmas had come to a close, no happier than those that had come before it. He’d had such high hopes this year, but it wasn’t meant to be. He thought about his wife then, how happy they’d been during the holidays. How he’d loved the dark-haired, dark-eyed woman who was Kollar’s mother. He knew what he felt for his wife was pure, true love because no other woman had come close to her. She was always in his thoughts. Always. Because…Kollar looked just like her.

He needed to go back to his own little cabin, back to his memories and his pictures. The big question for him was, did he walk through the house and use the front door? If he did that, he’d have to go past his son, and he wasn’t in the mood for any more verbal fisticuffs. Or, should he leave by the back door and avoid his son entirely? Because he was a father and well able to handle the verbal fallout he imagined, he decided to leave by the front door.

Kyros stood in the doorway of the dining room, which gave him a clear view of his son in his recliner. He watched him for a few minutes. The jacket to Kollar’s suit was on the floor, his shirt cuffs unbuttoned but not rolled up. His new tie was hanging drunkenly over the end of the coffee table. His left shoe was on the hearth, his right shoe under an end table. A whiskey bottle was clutched in one hand, one of Alpha’s new Christmas toys in the other.

“Good night, Kollar. Merry Christmas.”

“Night, Pop. It’s really not our Christmas. Ours isn’t until January 7. Why are we pretending? Merry Christmas anyway. It was a good dinner.”