Where is the original trust, he was demanding.

That is none of your business, I told him.

I’m your son.

You’re also forty-four years old, I said.

Stop acting like an heir waiting for a funeral.

And at that, something in Michael’s face closed, and he pushed me.

I want to be precise about the nature of it, because Michael would spend a great deal of energy trying to make it sound like nothing.

It was not a theatrical shove.