"Timothy, I called you here to discuss something with you."
Hearing the name 'Timothy,' Finn Taylor's eyes were filled with hostility. He hated that name—it was associated with only pain. "Call me Finn Taylor."
"Timothy is your name. Don't you like it?"
"I said to call me Finn Taylor."
"Alright, alright. Finn Taylor it is." Benjamin Taylor was still hoping to discuss business with his grand-nephew, but the latter wasn't going to make it easy for him. "Finn Taylor, I wanted to talk to you about your grandpa. My eldest brother has been gone for almost ten years. Although we've always hoped that he'd come back, I don't think that's going to happen. Why don't you choose a date as his death anniversary? I know that you're his favorite grandson, so why don't you pick a date?"
The more Benjamin Taylor said, the more Finn Taylor felt like killing the other. "My grandpa isn't dead."
