Cassius smirked. "If it does, I'll be the first to say 'I told you so.'"
Brent rolled his eyes. "That's what worries me."
The conversation drifted after that, the intensity mellowing into the comfortable banter of longtime associates. Stories from past ventures, jabs disguised as compliments, laughter that came from memory more than mirth.
Then Cassius leaned back, resting his ankle over one knee. He looked at Larman with a touch of curiosity in his eyes.
"By the way," he said, almost too casually, "how's your kid?"
As if on cue, the double doors across the room opened and a boy stepped inside. He looked about twelve or thirteen, dressed neatly in a collared shirt and slacks. His eyes were sharp, observant like his father's, though a little paler. There was a quiet intelligence in the way he stood, as if he already understood more than he should.
"Speak of the devil," Larman said, smiling. "Cassius, meet my son, Lian."
