Free The Digger's Rest by K. Patrick Malone

fail to see how that’s any
of your concern, Dr. Edgeworth. I simply came here to find out
where I can find my son,” Bramson said shrugging, acting as if he
had no idea what Jack was talking about, but instead only revealing
his true cowardly nature. It’s always the sign of a truly stupid
man when he’s not even smart enough to know when he’s in danger. In
this case Julian Bramson, the Third, was completely unaware of the
volcano that was about to erupt and spew twenty years’ worth of
soot into his face, notwithstanding the red flags Jack was waving
right in front of him. Jack sat upright in his chair and leaned
over his desk like a military high commander and pointed his finger
at Bramson.
    “ Oh yeah! Well, let me have the honor
of being the first tell you how, and why, it is my business,” Jack
said through clenched teeth, knowing there was a train wreck close
over the horizon, a volcanic eruption only seconds away. “Oddly
enough, I don’t remember seeing you at his mother’s funeral,
holding him in your arms while he cried, comforting him while his
whole existence crumbled before his very young eyes. Were you
there, Mr. Bramson? No, I don’t think you were, because I was,”
Jack said pointing his finger at his own chest. “I held him as he
cried his broken heart out, not you. Or were you at the hospital
when the boy almost died, starving himself from grief at not having
a mother or a father. I don’t remember seeing you there, and you
know why? Because I was there. I was the one who never left him
when he needed me. I was the one who gave him security and
encouraged him to be the best man he could be. Where were you at
his graduation when he came out at the top of his class at
Columbia? Were you there clapping and cheering, shouting and
whistling with pride? Funny, I was and I didn’t notice you anywhere
around. Or when he got his doctorate, or when he brought the
biggest show to New York in thirty years making him one of this
country’s top art scholars? Where exactly were you when all this
was going on, Bramson?” Jack’s eyes zoned in on his, following them
so he couldn’t avoid his gaze, reading all of the pitiful
embarrassment he saw there.
    “ And now you have the unmitigated,
screaming gall to come in here to me and tell me you want to see
your son and that it’s none of my fucking business. Well, let me
tell you something, buddy, he’s not your son, you forfeited the
right to ever use those words. He’s my son now and don’t you ever
forget that! So don’t you fucking come in here to my Museum trying
to pull some half-assed ‘To the Manor Born’ shit on me and tell me
it’s none of my goddam business. It’s none of your fucking business
where he is or what he’s doing now, old man!” Jack said, his voice
just this side of a shout.
    Bramson looked at Jack stunned, physically
pushed back not only by his words but by the force of his delivery.
“Now see here, Edgeworth… There’s no reason for…” Bramson stuttered
in embarrassed distress from having his ass pinned to the ropes,
but Jack wasn’t letting him go. He was going to finally have his
say in the matter and nothing was going to stop him
    “ See here, my ass…” Jack said, cutting
Bramson off sharply. “And I’ll tell you another thing, Mr. Bramson,
if you ever try to come here to see him again or try to contact him
in any way I…will…take…you…apart, personally if necessary. I’m not
afraid of you or your money. You may be old Boston, but I’ve got
five generations of Main Line Philly behind me. You don’t scare me
in the least, so don’t you come in here and try to fuck with me
unless you want a war on your hands. I’ll give you a battle you’ll
never forget. Not that it would change anything as far as Mitch is
concerned. You may have planted the seed before you ran off like
the coward that you are, but I was the one who made it grow, taught
him how to be the man he is, and Mitch knows that. He’ll