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</div><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">From his greater height, Karl looked down on Greg Widcombe.  The two remained only acquaintances throughout the years, mostly because the social circles that Grace traveled in were not the same as Marcus Widcombe's son frequented.  Karl was honest with himself, in spite of Greg being a disappointment to his father and his sister, in that he had some small envy of Greg.  Greg Widcombe had figured out what he wanted in life before he was twenty and Karl, at nearly twice the younger man's age, had not.  Karl Wahl was just a hired hand, a mercenary, a ronin, a yojimbo with an MBA.  What a joke.<br/>
<br/>
Lightning struck a tree in the garden, strobing the parlor, accompanied by instant thunder.  Thor was busy.  Karl was not moved.<br/>
<br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(84, 172, 210)">"That's it, Greg?"</span> Karl's voice lowly rumbled, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(84, 172, 210)">"No, 'Hello, Karl.'  Or, 'How have you been?'  Or, 'That's a nice suit you have there.'"</span><br/>
<br/>
He let Greg Widcombe stew a bit.  Just because Greg had found what he wanted in life didn't mean he could act towards him like Grace did.  Grace signed his paychecks and more.  Even if Karl had swung that way, Greg would have a lot of catch-up work in that department before Karl would consider putting up with his shit.<br/>
<br/>
When it looked as if Greg was going to say something, Karl spoke, saying,<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(84, 172, 210)"> "Grace is attending to some personal business.  I'm not going to search, or help you search, for her unless it's either more serious business or a matter of life and death.  This storm won't last forever.  I don't have to be back in the city in the near future."</span>  Then Karl asked him, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(84, 172, 210)">"Do you?"</span></span>