Gemotions

“Absolutely not,” said George, his voice clipped and short. He slammed the door, hard, the noise echoing through the house. The lawyer's email, filled with details of a son he never knew about, was a source of anger. The man had the audacity. He had always been the one to call the shots.

He walked over to the cabinet where the fine Scotch was kept. He poured a generous measure, watching the amber liquid swirl. He had things to do, he told himself, work to finish, projects to oversee. He’d deal with this later. Or maybe never. He took a long, slow drink.