"You wouldn't," Tony points out. "I mean, I'm not blaming you or anything. You barely know the guy and you don't—didn't—like him much. But that's just it. Since Dad died I'm the only one left who gives a shit."

He snorts, finally climbing out of bed to pour himself another glass. "His funeral's gonna be a joke," he mutters as he crosses to the cabinet by the foot of the bed. "It'll be me and a bunch of wrinkled corporate assholes who'd rather be flirting with their secretaries."