Quentin Edwards looked every part the corporate executive - neatly pressed dark grey pants, suit jacket hung around the back of one of the kitchen bar stools, white shirt and red tie. It was the red checked kitchen apron that finished off the whole ensemble. His geying hair was parted on the left and styled to be neat without appearing pretentious. That didnt matter to the 2 young boys that waited eagerly on either side of him carrying plates.

“More pancakes Granddad!” the one on the right said.

“Yeah!” answered the other, raising his plate.

Quentin laughed and poured more batter into the frying pan, “You’ll get them soon enough… this one is for Granddad to eat though. Go sit down and drink your juice!”

Both boys gave a cry of disappointment, lowered their plates, and walked back to the table to drink their abandonned glasses of Florida Orange Juice.

Quentin always enjoyed their visits but it was wonderful to give them back too. It was like the washing machine - great at what it did but oh-so-nice to have the house go silent after it had been on for an hour or more. Bob Martin, his son in law, was due to pick the boys up “sometime after breakfast time” depending on the traffic. Quentin snorted to himself as he ate pancake with a liberal helping of syrup, “depending more on when that woman you’re having the affair with lets you out of bed, is more like it.” Quentin said to an empty chair, imagining Bob was sitting there. “You do know you’re cheating on my little girl, dont you? In times past I’d have taken you out and given you a whipping to within an inch of your life. Hell, I’d still do it now, I’m sure the company lawyers could get me off the assault charge without too much effort.”

He finished the pancake, washed the three plates and glasses, and ushered his grandsons up to their room to check that all their belongings had been packed.

Downstairs he heard the doorbell.

“That’ll be your daddy!” he said, adding levity he didnt feel.

With both boys excitedly tangled in his legs he went down and opened the door.

Three men in dark suits stood there.

“Mr Quentin Edwards?” the central man asked.

“Yes? And you are…”

The well dressed visitor reached inside his jacket and produced a business card: Nicholas D. Viddia, attorney at law, with the law firm Wolfram & Hart.

Quentin absorbed things for a moment and ushered the boys inside to go play. After they’d safely vanished he said, “What the hell do you want? I know the Wolfram & Hart. Law firm? Never in my entire career did I meet a larger, more vicious pack of sharks who smelled blood in the water.”