Victor’s study looked different in daylight.
Less like a room and more like a statement. The bookshelves too deliberate, the desk too centered, the leather chair behind it positioned exactly far enough from the visitor’s chair to remind you, without saying so, who held the authority in the conversation. I had sat in that visitor’s chair once before, in another life, and let the room do exactly what it was designed to do.
I sat down now and kept my spine straight.
Victor came in two minutes after me, which was also deliberate. Men like Victor never arrived first to their own meetings. He was in a charcoal suit, no tie, the sleeves of his shirt rolled to the forearm in a way that was meant to read as relaxed. He sat down, folded his hands on the desk, and looked at me with the expression
