My filet mignon came along with the rise in sound from the couple behind me.
"I'm not going to see him," came from an older woman, voice raspy from to much smoking or too much hard liquor.
"Then you can talk to him over the phone, he's willing to do that," a younger voice, pleading.
"Why, so he can remind me of my flaws, why he left, why they took you?"
"No, he's dying, he wants you to--forgive him--"
"You haven't have you?" a clink of rings on a glass. A gulp and a cogh.
"I knew what happened, I was old enough to remember. I never forgot."
"So he dies alone, without my blessing, so what?"
"He still has something you want, something you've denied yourself for decades. I'm not fit yet, it needs to be you."
"What do I get out of it, a mention in his last testament? Old viper. Should have been killed ages ago. I need to powder something..." Sliding cloth and a grunt faded as the older woman left.
A click as a cell tel opens, tones beep--12 numbers? "I've got her interested, just a little more and she's yours."
A snap as the cell closes abruptly, "Then I'll be rid of you both," a triumpant whisper gloats.