Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
“A widely beloved bishop who served his people well,” he repeated. Even he had never thought to look up his own name. Come to think of it, he had no idea where it’d come from. “Those are big shoes to fill.”
“Indeed they are.” Mrs. Gray smiled. “Your mother must have had big dreams for you.”
Doubtful. But he hardly wanted to discuss the mother who’d been absent most of his life. “Where does Lennon come from?” he asked.
Mrs. Gray turned, bringing her hands together and pulling in a breath, as though she was about to share her favorite story of all. “I named her after John Lennon, one of the great peacemakers of our time. So see, together you’re the peacemaker and the emperor.”
“Sorry,” Lennon mouthed to him, rolling her eyes. But Ambrose couldn’t help smiling. He was enthralled by this family, and he’d only met two members so far.
“Anyway, I’ve made a batch of sangria, and it’s quite lovely, if I do say so myself. I used the singular orange from my orange tree, so does that make it extra special?” She laughed. “I think so. I’ll call this batch ‘Lonely Orange.’ It has a ring to it.”
“‘Only Orange’ would be better,” Lennon said.
“Oh, you’re right. I do love a good alliteration. Can I make you a glass of Only Orange, Ambrose?”
“Uh, thank you, Mrs. Gray, but I don’t drink.”
“Oh! Well that’s lovely too. Water? I would have made some fresh-squeezed orange juice but, well, the one orange and all.”
Ambrose smiled. “I’ll take a water. Thank you.”
“Where’s Dad?” Lennon asked as she gestured to a chair on the other side of the large well-worn wood table. Ambrose sat down, and Lennon took a seat across from him.
Mrs. Gray set a glass of water in front of him, a thin slice of lemon on the rim. His eyes held on that lemon wedge, and his heart gave a knock for some unknown reason. No, he did know the reason. Not counting food servers, no one in his life had ever put a lemon wedge on his glass of water. And it . . . touched him. Silly, maybe, but there it was. “Your dad’s fixing something on the telescope in the garage,” Lennon’s mom said. “He’ll be up in a few minutes.”
The sound of the front door opening and closing could be heard from downstairs, and then the clomping of feet as a male voice called out, “Hello? Anyone home?”
“In here,” Lennon called. She stood as a young man who looked a little like Lennon but had darker coloring entered the room. Ambrose assumed it was her brother.
“Hey, squirt.”
Lennon’s cheeks flushed, and she pushed at him when he rubbed his knuckle on her hair. “Are you kidding me?” she hissed. “Peter, this is my work colleague, Ambrose Mars, from the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” she said, enunciating the words. She looked at Ambrose and gave him a tight smile and then muttered under her breath, “I knew this was a bad idea.”
Peter, who had just handed his mother a bottle of wine and was now taking a beer from the fridge, stood straight and raised the bottle to Ambrose. “No shit? Man, do you want a—”
“Ambrose doesn’t drink,” Mrs. Gray said, turning from the sink with a colander of vegetables in her hand that she placed on the opposite counter. “Another lemon, dear? I do have plenty of those. And they flush toxins.”
“Why would you assume Ambrose needs to flush toxins?” Peter asked. “He doesn’t even drink.”
“In this world? Everyone needs to flush toxins,” Mrs. Gray said.
“Speak for yourself.” Peter plopped into the chair at the head of the table. “So, the FBI’s really getting a bad rap these days, huh?” Peter took a swig of his beer. “Rightly so, in my opinion. Nothing personal. The rot is at the top.”
“Peter!” Mrs. Gray said. “Stop causing controversy at the dinner table.”
“You love controversy at the dinner table,” he said. “And it’s not a dinner table at the moment. But in any case, you’ve always said mild-mannered conversations never get at the heart of a topic.”
She grinned. “It is true. But Ambrose might need to be broken in slowly.”
“It’s okay,” Ambrose said. “I don’t take it personally. The public should be able to trust institutions. Eventually most of them end up in service to themselves. It’s just the nature of the beast.”
“Damn, I actually might like this guy,” Peter said. “And agreed. So what should be done about that?”
“Outside checks and balances.”
“What if the checks and balances are captured by the institutions they’re supposed to be keeping accountable?”
Ambrose took a sip of his water. “Then you have to burn the whole system down and start again.”
Peter laughed. “Now I definitely know I like this guy.”
Ambrose smiled. “What do you do, Peter?”
“I assess the security posture of companies. Which basically means I monitor network vulnerabilities and gaps in security controls.”