Gemotions

He glared at the lawyer, a stocky man with a neatly trimmed beard. The pocket watch, his grandfather’s, rested in a velvet-lined box on the desk, glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights. "You understand, Mr. Peterson, the financial difficulties," the lawyer had said, his voice smooth and professional.

James felt a knot tighten in his stomach. He pictured the watch, the meticulous gears, the inscription on the back. His jaw clenched. He was not going to give this up.

"It's a valuable piece," Mr. Peterson continued, oblivious to the unspoken resistance radiating from James. James abruptly stood, pushing the chair away with a scrape. He grabbed his coat. "I've heard enough," he said, his voice a low growl. "I'll be in touch." He didn't wait for a reply, simply turned and walked out, the heavy oak door slamming behind him.