I finally brought my uncle to the bargaining table. "Bargaining table" may not be quite the right word, but given how things played out in the natural course of events, I can think of no better way to describe it. My uncle was intent on treating me as a child. I confronted him, from the start, with an air of suspicion. There was no hope for any amicable resolution.
Regrettably, I can't detail here the particulars of all that transpired. There's too much else to tell. There are things of far greater import still to be written. It's only with difficulty that I restrain my pen and keep it from racing ahead. The chance to see you and relate all in due time is lost to me now. Because I'm unpracticed with the pen, and because the time left me is precious, I'm forced to refrain from telling all I would like.
You'll remember, I trust, the time I told you there are no archetypal villains in this world. How I told you that villains, in their time, emerge from the ranks of the virtuous. How one can never be too cautious. You pointed out to me, on that occasion, that I was worked up. You then asked what it is that changes a virtuous man to a villain. When I simply replied "money," you seemed disappointed. I remember well that look on your face. I can tell you now that in that moment I was thinking of my uncle. I was thinking of him with contempt. He was proof to me that money can turn any man to a scoun. He was proof to me that no man can be trusted. You were ready for deeper ideas, and no doubt regarded my answer as trite and unsatisfying. My answer, though, was genuine. You remember, don't you, how worked up I'd become. I believe that a straightforward reply, stated with passion on one's tongue, is more impactful than novel words from a cool head. It's the flow of blood that powers the body. Words are more than waves disturbing the air, they induce great action in broader realms.