George stiffened.

"We don't talk about Warren Nesmith in this house, do you understand me?"

"But why? Dad—"

"Get out," George muttered.

"What?"

"Get out!" he shouted, louder. "Out of my office! Out of my sight!"

Micky nodded and scrambled out of the room, listening as another door was slammed shut behind him. He sighed and slumped to the ground. He pulled his legs up to his chin, wrapped his arms around them, then rested his chin on his arms.

So much for getting anything out of his father.