The heir had made his father angry, and not for the first time. It was always something with the man, and usually something petty. This time, it was pettier than usual. He’d brought friends home.

It hadn’t been in any intrusive way, their house was big enough that the heir could keep his associates tucked away at one side and have no risk at all of them ever even encountering his father. By chance, however, the older man had come to speak with him, and in doing so seen the strangers present. Etiquette had kept him from protesting before them, but the moment they were gone, the heir received his displeasure.

“How could you be so stupid?”

He steeled himself against it, as usual. An accusation of stupidity was tame compared to the sorts he’d usually expect. His father didn’t relent.

“Well, boy? How? What were you thinking?”

The heir knew, from many years of hard learning, that there was rarely a correct answer in replying to his father, and lots of wrong ones. He kept his silence most of the time for that reason. Being demanded an answer…That was a problem, because it meant he couldn’t afford to safely avoid committing to any singular answer without having it interpreted as further insolence.

So he thought. What was the most likely thing to diffuse this rage? He’d need to know what its cause was, first, but that wasn’t hard to deduce.

“I wanted to see how they’d try to approach me, to learn how they might try and get close to me.”

His father’s eyes defrosted, just a shade, and he weighed his son with a new consideration. Thoughtful, perhaps a fraction impressed.

“And you didn’t tell me first?”

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“I didn’t want to bother you with it.”

That was perhaps a word too many, for his father’s face tightened again.

“Always tell me before inviting snakes into my home, understand? You can experiment all you want with yourself, but not with me. You knew they were only here to slither close to you, to curry favour and gain wealth, and still you deposited them under my roof?”

The heir said nothing, simply awaiting his father’s tirade to reach its end. It didn’t take too long- fortunately the old man had never been particularly skilled at sustaining any complex thought, and the anger he was venting out seemed enough of a contrivance to challenge him plenty. He was gone soon enough.

The heir didn’t know what to do at that, already rather missing his friends. He didn’t get to see them often. They went to school, he didn’t, they were permitted to go outside at all hours, he wasn’t. The heir of his father’s “empire” was too important for such things, his mind demanding tutorship like a sword demanded sharpening. And so he simply wandered, idle and thoughtless, until his lessons next began.

It was tomorrow when his father took him out again, to some insubstantial meeting or another among the executives of his company. It was the first time the heir had ever actually attended one, but his father insisted that fifteen was more than old enough. He was seated in one corner to watch in silence- always in silence- while it all unfolded.

The heir watched, accustomed to doing so, and learned. And when at last the event was over his father took him to one side and asked him what he’d seen. He answered him, impressed him, listened to him as the man tried to offer fleeting insights into his own genius. It was infuriating.

His father was not an unintelligent person, but his mind was semi-remarkable at best. His ascension in class had been luck and dedication more than native genius. Like so many powerful men, however, he’d convinced himself he was one of the world’s greats, and become desperate to model his cleverest son in his image.

Well, the heir would let him have what he wanted, for a while at least. It would lubricate the churning gears of his life more effectively than anything else. That was one thing he’d learned from his father, intentional or not.

Working people often was about surrender and a deft-handed touch. Perhaps he would gain something from their lessons one day.