The fire crackled and lit up the edges of the crystal decanter next to him. He held his glass aloft to enjoy the sparkle of the facets against the honey coloured whiskey. Looking through the glass, the colours on the spines of his books split like a kaleidoscope. One of his favourite things was to dip into the writings of other powerful men – it like was being in some kind of elite club that spanned the centuries. Highly satisfactory.
He glanced at his watch, his driver would be arriving soon. He had an hour with Gloria Gregory to help him prepare for a high stakes court case. She had the perfect skills set to help him get his thoughts in order. His researchers had prepared excellent notes, drawing on past cases and some impressive legal nuances. He knew he could rely on his near eidetic memory but his real super power was his authoritative charisma that other lawyers found near impossible to challenge. The stature of a tall rugby player, combined with deep, richly resonant voice more suited to a thespian, combined to make him one of the most highly respected lawyers in London.
Twenty five minutes later he was admitted into an exclusive address in Soho.
“Seymour, always lovely to see you.” smiled Gloria as she ushered him into a room on the left of the beautifully decorated foyer. He sat down, eased his feet out of his Italian brogues and waited. Ten long minutes later the door opened and Gloria returned, magnificent in her six inch spike heels, skin tight PVC cat suit and wielding a menacing cat o’nine tails.
“On your knees now!” she commanded.