Time is the cruelest judge. In the blink of an eye, a year passed.
My project at the London headquarters was a resounding success. I became a partner and firmly established myself in London's financial world.
London's rainy season was long and bitterly cold.
One Friday evening, I emerged from my office in the City after an intense cross-border mergers and acquisitions meeting.
As I pushed through the revolving glass doors, a freezing gust blew needles of rain into my face. I opened my long black umbrella and started toward the Porsche parked at the corner.
Then, from the corner of my eye, I noticed a tall, rigid figure beneath a dim streetlight. He had no umbrella. Rain had soaked his expensive dark suit, plastering it onto his body, and his disordered hair clung to his forehead.
He
