Haskell met his father’s tirade with a faint, chilling smile. “So that’s what this is all about.”
“Is this not something to be angry about?” Thatch bellowed, kicking a nearby table with such force that it overturned with a deafening crash.
Haskell’s expression didn’t flicker. “Dad, do I need to remind you again that you have to ask me for every penny you spend? Even if you’re dissatisfied, you should have the sense to hold your tongue. How dare you question me?”
Thatch’s eyes bulged. “Because I am your father!”
A soft, derisive laugh escaped Haskell’s lips. “You should be grateful you’re my father. It’s the only reason I haven’t laid a hand on you and have merely cut off your allowance.”
“You would dare strike your own father?!” Thatch’s face turned purple, a vein pulsing in his forehead. “You insolent brat! You’re just as unreasonable as your mother!”
At the mention of his mother, Haskell’s eyes turned to ice. He motioned for Crispin to hand him a file, then threw it at Thatch.
“You are not worthy to speak my mother’s name. See for yourself why I shattered Valeria’s kneecaps.”
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