It was Troy. Troy Griffiths. The-know-it-all from Brian's Saturday, history class.
"What's going on?" Troy took a step back. A frown crinkled his small face. "Where's my dad?"
Right. He was Mr. Griffiths' son. Mr. Griffiths was my father's advisor. The man was also insufferable. I spent an afternoon with his child. It was a quality the boy inherited from his father.
Brian stepped forward. "Troy, what are you doing here?" He tried to use a calm and collective voice to soothe the child.
The frown on the boy's face didn't falter, though. If anything, the child got even more frightened. His gaze swept over us as the wrinkles deepened in his forehead.
"Where's my dad?" he kept asking while he continued to step backward.
