Jim is watching Christmas specials on the telly when someone knocks on the door. Dad opens it up and in walks a man in a designer suit.
"Patrick!" The man says, shaking the elder Moriarty's hand. Nodding to Jim, he says, "Little brother?"
"No, that's my son. Jim, say hello."
Jim looks up at the man's expensive clothes in awe. "Hello," he murmurs.
The man in the suit blinks, a bit surprised that someone as young as Patrick has a nine-year-old son. "Right," he says. "Anyway, here's your cut," he says, handing over a paper bag.
Patrick peers into the bag and says, "Er… where's the rest of it?"
"You know the bosses need their share. I suggest you shut your potato-eating mouth before it gets you in trouble," the man says in a steely tone.
"Yes, sir," comes the meek reply.
After the man leaves, Patrick pours himself a glass of whiskey and grumbles about how the bosses sit around smoking cigars and get all the benefits while everyone else risks life and limb.
Jim wonders why his dad isn't a boss and decides that his dad must be dumb. (But I'm not! I fool people all time!) He promises himself that someday, he's going to be a boss.