The heavy silence in the old room was finally broken by a tiny ‘clink’ sound as a crystal clear ice cube shifted in a short, heavy glass. Massive velvet curtains blocked all outside light to the room. A huge mahogany desk lived in an oasis of soft yellow light that emanated from dark green lamps. The world beyond was darkness and the pale, overweight man sitting behind the desk looked as if he had lived his entire life in that tiny realm.
A single leather-bound chair faced the monolithic slab of old wood. A much younger, slimmer man sat in the chair, his hand around a thick glass of honey hued whisky. A second ice cube shifted in the drink and the man sighed, lifting the glass to his lips. With a practiced gesture, the young man took his cell phone from his inside pocket, woke it to check the time and then replaced it.
“I can either continue along the steady path to becoming horribly drunk,” the young man said. “Or you could actually tell me why I’m here. Sir.”
A minute passed. Two minutes. Finally, as if he bore the weight of the world upon his bald head, the old man looked up.
“Ah, Williams. So glad you could make it. I have something for you.” The old man’s glasses hung from the tip of his nose, as if a raindrop pausing before its fall. Robert Williams, III stared at the other man’s glasses. He willed them to either fall or for the old man to push them back into proper place. The blatant disregard for both physics and order were beginning to drive him mad.