THE Rolls-Royce Phantom Coupé sauntered steadily past the ominous gates of Kacpar Ryker’s property. The grounds and pathways leading towards his manor were embellished with a contemptible aesthetic of an overcrowded environment, congested with excessive enhancements. Each way you looked, you could find a fountain or a street lamp that was as superfluous as the antique beside it.

   ‘We have arrived, sir.’

   Ryker looked up bleakly from his papers, coughed his gratitude and stepped out of the car, briefcase in hand. He strode methodically towards his complex, dressed in an exorbitant, yet unsightly suit – black and pressed to perfection. His shoes, of similar value, clicked like clockwork as he paced onwards. His posture was undeniably hunched and he had to forcefully lift his head in order to see ahead of himself; the bags underneath his eyes making this task all the more arduous. His face told a similar story to the way he was dressed as his seemingly permanent glare remained fixated over his brow. As Ryker made his way forward, he, as usual, contemplated additions to his home for this, he knew, was an important reflection of his wealth. After all, a client’s first impressions were, as far as he knew, as valuable as the currency he would eventually collect from them

   He made his way inside and proceeded straight up to his office.

   ‘Good evening, sir.’

   His thoughts, pre-occupied, deafened him from his secretary’s greetings. After passing what seemed like an endless grid of empty quarters, he reached what he felt was the core of his existence, his home within his home. The room begged for windows and fresh air, to the point where an eerie scent began to emanate from within the walls. Unconsciously, Ryker ran his finger along the top of the display cabinet beside his desk. The cabinet, among several others, held numerous awards, many attributed to the success of his enterprise. Still lost in his thoughts, he examined his finger as if it possessed some sort of infection before coughing loudly.

   A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts before his secretary followed through.

   ‘Sir, the hospital has called and your brother, Michael, has been increasingly unwell,’ she advised, undisturbed by Ryker’s antics. ‘Would you like me to arrange you that visit that he has been awaiting? You are also overdue for your blood-’

   Ryker sighed loudly in what appeared to be an attempt to vent his frustration.

   ‘If you pref-‘

   ‘Make it next week if you must…’

   ‘It’s your choice, sir.’

   ‘Just…’ Ryker frowned inconceivably, opening the cabinet before he continued. ‘Tell them next week,’ he muttered as he meticulously rearranged one of his displays.

   ‘You do remember that you are flying to New Zealand next week to consult with the new investment officers? I may have to rearrange that trip.’

   He sighed once more, closing the cabinet. The secretary looked up anxiously before making the change in his schedule.

   ‘When shall you see him then?’

   Ryker looked upwards to the ceiling for a brief moment before coming to a resolution.

   ‘Two weeks. Two weeks will be fine,’ Ryker concluded, blowing the dust particles off his finger.