Chapter 4

While the old woman remains transfixed staring over his shoulder, Joe dares a look to see what has her so surprised. As he turns, the person who came up behind him steps forward and offers some wrapped candies to the woman, apparently his grandmother, and looks over to make eye contact with Joe. 

The guy stares blankly at Joe. There’s no recognition at all. 

Joe, on the other hand, feels a sense of familiarity with this person, but can’t quite place it. His face is clean-shaven, but his hair is almost identical to his. It’s the eyes – the brilliant, blue eyes, that catch his attention. 

They look just like his. 

Joe has always grown facial hair ever since he was able to. And due to the nature of his work, has always kept his hair short; rarely ever letting it grow past a few inches. Despite all the differences, the eyes between the two are identical. 

“Excuse me, bud,” the guy says to Joe. It seems he hasn’t seen the same similarities that Joe has. Even the grandmother is still holding her hand out with the candies in her palm, frozen in place, eyes moving between the two young men in front of her. 

The look-a-like takes a step away and awkwardly stands back, uncertainty all over his face. He begins to stare at Joe a bit more intensely, but before he can say anything, an older gentleman that Joe has yet to come across interrupts the interaction. 

“Darlene, honey, I’ve been looking all over for you,” he says while embracing her and kissing her cheek. He turns to face the two men. “Nicolas, my boy, aren’t you supposed to be with your mother in the kitchen?”

Joe looks between the two of them, waiting to see how the interaction will play out. The other guy, Nicolas, seems to be hiding something but after a few moments nods to his grandfather and turns to leave. He walks through the foyer towards the center of the house. 

“Darlene, why don’t you make sure Nicolas finds his way to Evie. I have a few questions for our guest here,” he finishes by gesturing his drink towards Joe. He gives his wife’s shoulder a squeeze and another peck on her cheek. She nods to him as well and follows her grandson towards the kitchen, and the rest of the party. 

“Look, I’m not here to start any trouble. I -” 

“Not here – not now. Come. Follow me,” he says while wrapping an arm around Joe’s shoulders. It’s more of a friendly embrace rather than a threatening gesture and Joe finds himself following alongside this old man back through the hallway towards the other end of the house. 

Hopefully, this doesn’t turn into one of those horror movies where the guy gets cut up into pieces, he thinks as he follows the old man down the hallway. 

It doesn’t take long for them to reach their destination: a dining room with a table that stretches the length of it. Joe hasn’t come across this room yet, and he immediately starts taking in his surroundings. The table and chairs are a beautiful old set of some expensive hardwood, and the decorations around the room are simplistic, yet just as beautiful. As his eyes scan the room, they rest on the fireplace off to the side. 

It’s grand, but the lack of scorch marks on the inside tells him that it’s never used. Simply for decoration. His eyes continue up the wall, as the old man leaves his side and stands opposite of the fireplace on the other side of the table, giving Joe some space. It almost seems intentional, but Joe is so focused on the fireplace that he doesn’t pay much attention to him. 

That’s got to be it, Joe thinks. Above the fireplace is an old, ornate shield that must be almost 500 years old. A large family crest covers the front; European descent, if he had to guess. Doing his best to not dwell on it too long and give away his intentions, he averts his gaze to other parts of the room. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” the old man asks him. 

Joe turns to face him with a quizzical look on his face.

“The table?” he asks, trying to play dumb. 

“I think you know what I mean,” the man answers.

He raises his glass in the direction of the shield. Joe shifts nervously in his stance, uncertain of how the rest of this conversation will play out. 

“The real question I have for you, is how did you find out about this job?” the man asks and then takes a sip from his whiskey glass. 

The words hang in the air while Joe debates how to answer. The fact that this man knows about the contract means so many different things, and Joe needs to assess the situation and figure out how to get out of this without losing his head. When thieves run into each other on the same job, it rarely ends amicably. 

He decides to be direct.

“Probably the same way you did. I think if we were both contacted for this job, we should be questioning them, not each other.”

The old man sets his glass down on the table and grips the back of the nearby chair, looking off towards the shield again as if analyzing Joe’s answer. Joe decides to wait for a response rather than speak. 

“You make a good point,” he begins to say, “I’m sure you can relate, but I’m not a fan of coincidence.” 

The old man pauses for a breath. Joe sees him set his jaw, as if the next words out of his mouth will physically pain him. 

“How much do you know about your father?”

The two lock eyes. Joe’s definitely unsure of how to react to that question, so he remains as poised as he can, however the old man is staring with a stony gaze with no signs of breaking. 

Joe looks away. 

He rubs his hand across his jaw, contemplating how to react. He glances over to the door. The situation is quickly deteriorating and he would rather not be caught in it. If this guy somehow has a relationship with his father, it’s most likely not a good one. His father has lived the life of a recluse for a reason. Before he can answer, or move, the man speaks again. 

“Don’t lie to me, boy. Did Nathan send you?”

The sound of his father’s name sends a bolt of electricity down his spine. He returns his gaze to the man. Joe tries to read his face for any piece of information that can tell him if this conversation will end with him fighting his way out of this house, but nothing is there. 

Joe clears his throat.

“How do you know my father?” 

The man looks down at his hands still gripping the chair, and shakes his head, almost as if Joe’s question gave him the answer he needed. 

“Boy, you have no idea what you’ve been brought into. The pile of shit you’re in right now is something you may never get out of.” 

Still shaking his head, he grabs his whiskey and downs the rest of it in one gulp. He sets the glass down harshly, the noise cutting through the quiet of the room. 

“If you’re here, someone else is pulling strings that I didn’t think were still attached to this family. I told Evie this job smelled rancid and we should stay away from it, but she refused. Damn it!” 

Joe awkwardly stands across from this man, who apparently knows more about him than he’s letting on. Trying to process all of this new information has left him speechless. He places a hand on the chair in front of him to steady himself as his brain computes everything as fast as it can. Still, he’s completely lost as to what game is being played around him. 

“Your name, son, what is it?”

The question brings Joe out of his stupor. He glances back up at the old man, who’s now standing a few feet closer to him. 

“It’s Joe,” he replies.

“Well, Joe, my name is Lawrence. Lawrence Stewart. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

The statement forces a confused look on Joe’s face. The old man, Lawrence, laughs at it, and it’s a hearty, well-meaning, laugh that relieves the tension in the room. He reaches his hand out. Tentatively, Joe reaches out and shakes it. 

“Joe, I’m your grandfather. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”