His eyes moved, a quick flick beneath dark lenses, though his head was still canted slightly toward the crowd. He recognized Jason from the preparatory file, though he noted distantly, that the photo tacked to the thick sheaf of papers had been pre-construction. (A bit of sloppy work that, but he supposed that was the difference, wasn't it? The paygrade in action.)

His gaze moved to the stage, watching the older Compson sway to and fro like a snake-charmer, the podium an unimpressed cobra.

"I could." It's a honest answer, if brisk. He could have said that he was security, not babysitting, but the Compsons were signing the checks, and while Jason wasn't the oldest, he was, at the moment, the most coherent. "If watching him try and resist is a better option than just letting him get it out."