Old Mr. Thorne sighed, shaking off the ghosts of the past, his expression instantly shifting back into the relaxed, elite patriarch.
Better not to let Isaac feel that his mind was elsewhere, or that something was up, he thought, grabbing his golf stick firmly. Isaac was as cunning as the word itself, more cunning than even a fox.
He adjusted his leather glove, inhaled deeply, and marched forward to take his turn. It didn't matter how long he had to play this exhausting game of charades; he will surely get what he came looking for. Or not.
Whichever the case, he would get his confirmation later this evening. A meeting of sorts was happening today at Spider's cottage—the lad had sent each and everyone of them a message this morning.
A meeting which would, hopefully, reveal every single piece of dirt, financial tracking, and shadow connection Spider had unearthed on the Becketts—including Noah.
