The Succession of Blood

Ernest offered no immediate answer. For once in his life, he had no calculation, no projection, and no engineering counter-argument prepared.

Victor set his cutlery down, his demeanor turning uncharacteristically sober. "Your mother is not asking you to abandon your work, Ernest."

"I know," Ernest murmured.

"Do you?" Victor leaned his forearms against the table. "You behave as though your only choices are working seventeen hours a day or abandoning the enterprise entirely."

"I do not work seventeen hours every single day," Ernest muttered defensively.

Both of his parents stared at him until he looked back down at his plate.

"There is another reason we brought this before you tonight," Victor said, his tone dropping to a quiet, authoritative register that Ernest rarely heard from his father.

Ernest looked up, sensing the shift. "What is it?"