18
“As I recall, you were a rotten little brat when you frustrated the emperor fifteen years ago,” Tavin Miloschenko said.
He petted his chinchilla, and the animal’s nose twitched as it looked at Florian with its gleaming red eyes.
“I’ve seen you in the news, in the papers,” Miloschenko said. His face hardened. “You’re still a rotten little brat.”
“A rotten little brat with more money than you’ll ever know in your lifetime,” Florian said. “And more power.”
“Why would we need your power?” Miloschenko asked. “Whatever we want, we take. Including your entire galaxy if we wanted to. Why are you here? To admire me?”
Florian unrolled a piece of paper from his inside suit pocket. He handed it to Miloschenko.
The man set his chinchilla gingerly on the table. Then he read the paper tiredly.
