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“We’ve decided it’s not appropriate,” he said, as if discussing a dress code violation. “Your grandfather refuses to dress properly. Clients dine at Riverside. It’s just not… a good look.”
“It’s his 80th birthday,” I whispered. “He’s your father.”
“We’ll do something more private. Later. Something more… appropriate.”
Appropriate.
That word again. The wall they’d built between themselves and the man who raised them.
They didn’t just flake—they abandoned him.
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