Marc argued.
He accused Romain of inflating costs.
Romain told him to stop making excuses.
The call ended abruptly.
Marc stood in the bedroom, breathing hard.
He looked at his bank balance.
He looked at the invoice.
Then he looked toward the floor.
Beneath him, in the workshop, stood a gold watch that might be worth more than the entire debt.
He could hear the rain.
He could hear the clocks.
And he could hear his grandfather’s voice from earlier in the week.
You should not make another bad financial decision because you’re frightened of the first one.
Marc threw the phone onto his bed.
Then he went downstairs.
Henri heard the workshop door open.
He did not look up immediately.
“The shop is closed.”
“It’s me.”
Henri removed his loupe.
Marc stood in the doorway.
His face was pale.
“Grandpa, I need the money.”
Henri studied him.
“We’ve discussed this.”
“No. You discussed invoices. I’m talking about money.”
Henri set down his tools.
“Have you asked for proper documentation?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He’s still demanding payment.”
Henri took a breath.
“Then we should contact someone who understands these matters.”
Marc laughed sharply.
“By Monday?”
“Tomorrow morning, we can-”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday!”
“There are ways to obtain advice.”
“You always have an answer, don’t you?”
Henri looked at him.
“Not always.”
Marc stepped farther into the room.
Rain hammered against the glass.
His eyes moved toward the cabinet.
Henri noticed.
“What are you looking at?”
Marc said nothing.
Henri followed his gaze.
The pocket watch.
“No.”
Marc looked at him.
“I haven’t asked anything yet.”
“You don’t need to.”
Marc walked toward the cabinet.
“That watch is worth thousands.”
Henri stood.
“Leave it.”
“It doesn’t even work.”
“Marc.”
“You could sell it and solve this.”
“It isn’t for sale.”
“Why?”
“Because it isn’t.”
Marc turned toward him.
“That’s not an answer!”
Henri’s face tightened.
“It’s the answer you’re getting.”
Marc approached the cabinet.
He examined the lock.
“Where’s the key?”
Henri moved between him and the glass.
“Step away.”
“Grandpa, please.”
“No.”
Marc’s voice rose.
“You’d rather keep some dead watch than help your own grandson?”
Henri stared at him.
The phrase struck him with almost physical force.
Some dead watch.
For a moment, he seemed unable to speak.
Then he said, very quietly, “Don’t call it that.”
Marc looked at him.
“Why? Because it’s valuable?”
Henri shook his head.
“Because you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Marc took a step forward.
“Then tell me!”
Henri’s breathing had become uneven.
He should have stopped.
He should have sat down.
He should have called someone.
Instead, he reached for the cabinet key hanging from a chain beneath his waistcoat.
Marc saw the movement.
He reached toward it.
Henri caught his wrist.
“Don’t.”
Marc pulled back.
“Give it to me!”
“No!”
The movement was sudden and clumsy.
Marc was stronger.
Henri was unsteady.
They struggled for only a few seconds.
Marc tried to free his wrist and reach past his grandfather toward the cabinet.
Henri caught his sleeve.
Marc pushed him away.
It was not a punch.
It was a hard, angry shove intended to clear the space between them.
But Henri was seventy-six.
His balance was poor.
His heel caught the leg of a stool.
He stumbled backward into the workbench.
The impact knocked a wooden parts box from the edge.
It struck the floor.
The lid flew open.
Hundreds of tiny screws, gears, and springs scattered across the tiles.
For an instant, the sound was almost delicate.
Metal pieces clicking against stone.
Then Henri made a sound Marc had never heard from him before.
A sharp, involuntary gasp.
The old man gripped the edge of the bench.
His face had gone grey.
Marc froze.
“Grandpa?”
Henri pressed a hand to his chest.
His knees buckled.
Marc stepped forward.
“Grandpa!”
Henri slid down beside the workbench.
The movement was awkward and frightening.
His shoulder struck the cabinet.
The glass rattled.
He remained conscious, but his breathing was laboured.
Marc crouched.
“What happened? Are you okay?”
Henri looked toward the cabinet.
The pocket watch remained inside.
Eight fifteen.
His eyes filled with tears.
Marc reached for his phone.
Then Henri spoke.
“Take it.”
Marc stopped.
“What?”
Henri’s voice came out strained.
“The watch.”
“Grandpa, don’t-”
“Take it!”
The words were almost a shout.
Henri struggled to breathe.
“Sell it. Pay your debt.”
Marc stared at him.
The old man reached weakly toward the cabinet.
Then his arm fell.
“But do you know…” Henri swallowed, fighting for breath. “Do you know why it stopped at eight fifteen?”
Marc’s face changed.
He shook his head.
Henri looked at him.
“That was the time your mother died.”
The workshop seemed to fall silent.
Marc could still hear the rain.
He could still hear the clocks.
But the sounds seemed distant.
Henri continued, his voice breaking.
“I stopped it myself. In the hospital.”
Marc stared at the watch.
Henri pressed his hand against his chest.
“I couldn’t stop what happened to her. So I stopped that.”
