I sat up when he named his attorney.
“And Tommy.”
“Tommy who?”
“My old apprentice.”
I was already reaching for my keys.
“What are you doing?”
“Come see.”
When I arrived, four vehicles filled the driveway.
Grandpa’s truck.
A black sedan I assumed belonged to David.
Tommy’s work van.
And a white SUV I didn’t recognize.
Grandpa stood near the porch in his usual work clothes.
David was beside him holding a leather folder.
Tommy leaned against his van, drinking coffee.
I got out.
“What is happening?”
Grandpa smiled.
“Morning. I was wondering how long you’d take to get here.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Tommy grinned.
“You’re about to enjoy yourself.”
Tommy had worked for Grandpa nearly 20 years earlier.
Back then, he was a skinny 19-year-old who could barely cut crown molding without swearing.
Now he owned one of the largest residential carpentry companies in thecounty.
