Wrapping up took longer than expected. Thankfully, packing up Kevin and Bette’s residence was easily outsourced. I’ll let Simone handle the details regarding what to keep, what to put into storage, and what to dispose of.

The office was more complicated. Charles O’Bannion has been helpful and obviously Kevin trusted him. All the same, rather than picking his brain about the REITs I’ve just had all of the files digitally transferred to the New York office, along with everything from Kevin’s computer.

We’ve still managed to make it to the airport in time to reach New York tonight. I step out of the car and wait for Stuart to join me on the tarmac. He takes half a step out then pauses, looking up at the plane the same way he’s been looking at me since I first met him.

It hits me that he is probably fully aware by now of how Kevin and Bette died.

Dammit, I say to myself.

Still, the plane is a necessary convenience. It’s not as though we can take a train back, and going by ship is a ridiculous proposition.

I kneel down next to him and his wide, gray eyes turn to me.

“Are you scared?”

It takes him a moment to respond, then he nods just a bit.

“Is it because of Kev—your mom and dad?”

He twists his lips in that way of his—and his father’s—which answers the question for me.

“What if I promised you that nothing bad will happen to us?” Obviously, that’s not something I can guarantee, but hopefully it will alleviate some of his concerns. Statistically speaking, flying is in fact one of the safest ways to travel.

He stares at me noncommittally.

“I also made sure they have plenty of gummy bears on board. You can have as many as you want.”

Now his eyes dart back toward the plane with a considering look. That’s a good start.

I stand up and reach out my hand. “Come on, let’s go stuff our faces with candy. I’m looking forward to my Swedish fish.”

The funny thing is, I am actually looking forward to the Swedish fish. I can’t even remember the last time I had some. I can’t remember the last time I had candy, period.

Stuart tentatively takes my hand. His tiny palm is completely dwarfed by my own and there is an awkward moment where I’m unsure how to hold it properly. He figures it out for the both of us, obviously more used to holding larger hands than I am holding child-sized ones.

Slowly but surely I’m figuring out this whole “uncle” thing. Not that it matters, of course.

I remember my ultimate goal. Once I’m done with Simone, Stuart will be mine to raise as I see fit, or rather how the Knickerbocker School sees fit.

Still, I might as well enjoy myself during this little chore of bringing him home.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Bennett,” Meghan, one of the flight attendants says to me in a politely professional tone. The staff on the plane have long since figured out my personality type: Do Not Disturb.

Her attention shifts to the other passenger with me and her expression and tone change immediately. “And good afternoon to you, Mr. Bennett,” she says brightly and cheerfully to Stuart.

He blinks in surprise, but then a smile appears on his face.

“Good afternoon,” he replies holding out his hand graciously.

She gives him an amused look and reaches down to shake it properly. “Well, aren’t you a perfect gentleman?”

Isn’t this a pretty picture, I think to myself, feeling that mild sense of jealousy I’ve been experiencing far too much of during this visit. I’m not even sure which of them I’m jealous of: the member of the staff who has always regarded me with polite formality or my nephew who, frankly, has done the same.

“Let’s get to our seats shall we?” I urge.

The polite professionalism is back and Meghan leads us both to our seats. The interior is sleek and sophisticated, just like everything about Bennett Financial Services. Strictly black and white with hints of gray in the carpeted floor and comfortable seats. There are four chairs facing each other across two tables, one pair on each side of the plane.

I take my usual seat, facing forward on the right. Before Meghan can show Stuart to the seat she knows I would have preferred he sit in, he has already crawled into the one facing me.

This is something I hadn’t counted on. I look at my nephew with the same expression I would if Weird Al Yankovic decided to sit across from me and begin playing his accordion.

Not wanting to be a jerk of an uncle, telling him to take the seat across the aisle, I simply sigh to myself.

I give a slight nod to Meghan who has been hovering nearby to figure out the best way to move him. There’s a brief flash of something in her eyes resembling admiration, which is a first.

By the time we are settled in for take-off I’ve got a copy of the Financial Times open. Stuart, thankfully, is occupied with some children’s book he’s brought with him.

As we speed down the runway and I feel the plane lift off the ground, I hear a loud gasp. My paper is lowered just enough to see him gripping his armrests so hard his tiny fingers are turning white. His eyes are practically bulging out of their sockets as he watches the ground fall away from us outside the window.

I set the paper down and lean in. “Remember when I promised nothing bad would happen to us?”

He swallows then nods.

“Nothing bad is going to happen, and once we reach cruising altitude, Meghan is going to bring you as many gummy bears as you want. How does that sound?”

I can see his grip ease up a bit based on the color of his finger tips. But he only nods in answer to me.

I watch him, my own anxiety level increasing with the altitude of the plane. I have no idea what to say to get him to relax and not think about his parents. I’m sure Simone would be quick with some effective words of comfort or funny jokes or kisses and hugs or something. Perhaps once we’re in the air I’ll encourage Meghan and Alexa, the other attendant, to keep him distracted.

I return to my newspaper, which at least blocks him from view, but I can feel his eyes boring a hole in the back of it.

With probably my hundredth internal sigh of resignation, I set the paper down and focus on him, trying to think of something to say. Blessedly, we are alerted that cruising altitude has been reached and the staff jumps to attention.

“Will you be having your usual Mr. Bennett?” Alexa asks.

I just nod.

“And you, Mr. Bennett? What can we get you to drink?” I note the change in tone and broad smile. She’s positively smitten.

I haven’t had much, if any interaction with children, but even I can objectively see that he will grow up to be a good looking man. He’s got the Bennett genes that will leave him with a full head of dark hair for life. Despite the current softness of his features, which I attribute to his youth, I can see the squareness of the jaw he’ll soon have. A warm rush of genetic pride runs through me as I take in the whole picture. Definitely a Bennett, this one.

Stuart looks at Alexa, visibly relaxed in the presence of the attractive and attentive flight attendant. “I don’t know,” he says in that whispering tone of his.

Hopefully, the Knickerbocker School will have a positive effect on his self-confidence and commanding presence. He’ll need both if he’s to take over Bennett Financial one day.

“Well, we’ve got soda, juice, milk, chocolate milk….”

We both watch his eyes light up at the mention of chocolate milk. Alexa laughs with delight. “I can see someone has a sweet tooth.”

She cocks her head at him. “A good thing too. A big boy like you needs his calcium. How old are you? Six?”

He gives her a sheepish smile and shakes his head, then raises his right hand, all five fingers splayed.

“Five?” she says with true astonishment. “Wow, you’re big for your age. We’ll have to get you an extra large glass.”

As she walks away I look him over again. I have no idea how big the average five-year-old is, so I’ll take Alexa’s word for it that he’s above average. I had two inches on Kevin’s 6’2”. I can’t for the life of me recall how tall Bette was, but I don’t remember her being a short woman. I think back to the meeting with Simone. In those ridiculous heels it’s impossible to tell how tall she was. 5’6”? 5’7”? Either way, with yet another rush of pride, I again attribute this to the Bennett side of the family.

“Here we are,” Alexa announces coming back. She places the crystal tumbler with two fingers of whiskey and a large bottle of San Pellegrino in front of me. Stuart is handed his chocolate milk and his face breaks out into one of his rare smiles. At least he seems to have forgotten his fear of flying for the moment.

“Look what else we have!” Meghan announces, following Alexa as she carries in two small crystal bowls, one filled to the brim with gummy bears and the other with Swedish Fish.

I had completely forgotten about this request. Stuart actually giggles and begins eating his right away. Later on they will be serving dinner. I probably should have told them to wait on this instead of serving it right away. Isn’t there some rule about the dangers of candy before a meal?

The request for my preferred candy was made mostly in jest and now I’m feeling a bit silly sitting there with a bowl of big, red candy fish sitting in front of me. I stare down at it with a frown. No doubt Alexa and Meghan are somewhere in back giggling over Archer Bennett, the man with a heart of stone, actually eating a bowl of candy.

Still, they’re sitting here in front of me now.

I pick one up and bite down, tail first as always. One side of my mouth quirks up as I chew on the familiar sweet, fruity, and slightly plastic taste.

I notice Stuart is a nibbler as well, biting off the head of a gummy bear then stuffing the whole body in his mouth to finish. Just like a pint-sized predator—a jaguar. It’s crazy that I’m reading so much into the way he eats candy. Still, I can’t help but think, given the proper training, he’ll make a fine captain of the Bennett Financial Services ship.

“How about we make a trade?” I suggest, eyeing his bowl.

He just looks at me speculatively as he chews away.

“I’ll give you one Swedish Fish for…ten gummy bears.”

His eyes go back and forth between my bowl and his, calculating. He gives me a quick shake of the head, no. Smart boy. It only serves to fuel my pride. Kevin raised him well.

“How about…seven?”

Another shake of the head.

We go back and forth and I’m actually frustrated to find myself offering a one-for-one trade before he finally gives in. Either he really likes gummy bears, really doesn’t care for Swedish Fish, or is the best negotiator that I’ve ever come across.

I’m not sure whether to be humiliated or damn proud.

By the time dinner arrives, both bowls are empty and I’m beginning to think there is something to that saying about candy before dinner. Those red fish aren’t sitting so well in my stomach. Neither of us has much of an appetite, despite the gourmet offerings and instead spend most of our time looking out the window at the coming twilight.

We’re well over the Atlantic now. Stuart is on his knees, hands on either side of the window with his face is pressed against it, looking down on the ocean below us. I wonder if he’s thinking about his parents again, settled somewhere on the bottom of that dark water. The thought has my own eyes sliding out the window to the vast darkness below us.

What the hell happened out here, Kev?