He is smaller than I imagined.
Not physically... he is a substantial man, broad shouldered, silver haired, the kind of presence that fills a room through habit rather than effort. But something about seeing him in person, standing in my office doorway in a coat that announces money without trying, makes him smaller than the version I constructed across months of documents and wire transfers and coordinated campaigns.
He looks like a man who has spent his whole life being the most powerful person available and has recently discovered that the category was smaller than he thought.
I gesture to the chair across from my desk.
He sits.
We look at each other.
"You are not surprised to see me," he says.
"I am not surprised by much anymore," I say. "What do you want Mr. Raym
