The Old Man never offered me any money and I never asked. It was just the way of things.
The huge mahogany table took up most of the vast space the dark, romantic room offered. There was room in here for dozens of children, though I doubt even one was ever welcome. It’s a perfect place, but cold in its tranquillity. Harry and I were never allowed in here as children. As I walk towards the desk, I pass two antique sofas stood the opposite sides of each on the hand-woven rug in front of the ashen fireplace, accompanied by rich velvet and bronze wingchairs. Adorning the walls are multiple certificates and diplomas, each one a badge of The Old Man’s success in the computing field. There’s a dull feeling of embarrassment that threatens to cascade over me, but I shutter it away. I’ve won a coup
