[Memory Excerpt from the File of Finnegan “Finn” Walsh, Candidate for Transfer]

  — Agent file #6869758730

  Smiling, Finn sat down with his bowl of drunken noodles across from his dad. He had been looking forward to this. He pulled out the connected, cheap wooden chopsticks and split them apart. Finn hoped this debriefing was going to put things in perspective. Dad always made things better.

  “So how did the interview go, kiddo?” the older Walsh asked.

  “They offered me a job, Dad. A fucking foreign-service job,” Finn said, shaking his head in annoyance. “I’m not ready for that.”

  Finn’s dad sat back, giving a soft whistle. “That’s… wow. Jimmy didn’t tell me they were going to do that. Who’d you talk to?” he asked.

  “A division head, Simone Ashton. She even gave me a card if I changed my mind,” Finn replied, pulling the card out and sliding it over.

  Finn’s father picked it up and stared at it incredulously. “Ashton? Ashton wanted to get her hands on you? Shit, Son. That’s a great opportunity, but you wouldn’t be able to talk about it. I’m glad you didn’t accept. People in her division don’t always come home. Still, that’s something to crow about!” he said proudly, giving the business card back.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Thanks, Dad. I just worry that I made the wrong decision. Maybe this was my only way in,” Finn replied.

  “Nah, you’re good. Just keep doing what you are doing and it will be fine,” he said with a smile.

  The tension in Finn’s shoulders eased, and he grinned back. It was always like this—Dad always makes things simpler and clearer. “So, what was that other thing you wanted to talk to me about?” Finn asked. He was feeling pretty good about things.

  The older man sighed and sat forward. “You know how your Gramps got cancer and had to get all those treatments?” he asked.

  Finn stiffened right back up. That had been a bad time. “Yeah. What’s going on, Dad?” he asked, only then noticing that his father hadn’t yet touched his noodles, let alone the chopsticks.

  “Well, all those treatments were hard on him, but he got better. The doctor tells me I have cancer too. I’ve already started the chemo,” the older man said.

  “Oh god! Dad!” Finn sat there in horror, and tears began their journey down his face.

  “Hey, stop that, Finnegan! I’m not dead. Just sick. And the doctors know what they’re doing. It’s going to be okay, Son,” the older man said encouragingly.

  Finn nodded his head, still unable to speak. He gave his dad a hesitant smile.

  “Good man,” his father said, relieved. “It’s going to be okay.”

  [End Memory File Transmission]

  Better? Good.