Every year. It was every year your father did this. On the faithful night of Halloween, you would both walk around town — grinning and flaunting your costumes. That wasn’t the problem.

The issue laid with what John did after trick or treating.

As you spread your earnings on the coffee table, the candy seeming to glisten and sparkle under the dim lights, John reached over and grabbed a handful of chocolates.

“Candy tax.” He snickered slyly, shoving the sweets in his pockets.