Seeing his own features reminded him of his family, and he continued to seethe at Kittridge for having invoked the names of his mother and uncle, and daring to speak of his father's death. It had taken every ounce of Ethan's professionalism and training to prevent him from reaching across that restaurant table and ripping Kittridge's larynx right out of his throat. Even so, he found it hard to believe that a man of Kittridge's experience would seriously entertain the notion that an IMF agent of Ethan's decorated background would compromise his family, colleagues, and integrity, all for a paltry one hundred twenty-seven thousand dollars in his mother's bank account.

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