Aunt Margaret stepped into the room first, her cardigan sleeves pulled tightly over her hands, a familiar gesture that betrayed her nerves.
Behind her, Uncles Julian, Nathaniel, and Richard followed in with the somber resolve of men walking into an intervention.
Silence enveloped them.
The grandfather clock ticked steadily, each second echoing like a countdown.
Arthur remained seated, leaning back in his leather chair, swirling his drink as he watched the ice cubes slowly melt away.
It was Margaret who broke the tension first.
"Oh, Arthur," she sighed, sinking into the armchair across from him.
Her tone was reminiscent of a parent scolding a child for tracking mud through the house rather than confronting a man who had just exiled his own brother. It made his jaw tighten involuntarily.
Julian cleared his throat. "We need to talk about what happened at breakfast."
Arthur took a deliberate sip from his glass. "There's nothing to talk about."
