Tristan Smart strode into the lavish office in his typical way. The walls were decorated with scenes from Dante’s ‘Divine Comedy’. He felt it helped him stay grounded. Humble. It was a good way to intimidate and impress both allies and rivals alike. “Benny!” he exclaimed.
“It is good to see you brother Velvet,” the smaller man said with a simple nod. He was already seated, and had been waiting. He did not stand and there was no embrace.
“Less of the Velvet my brother. What has become of you Benny? You sweat, you frown…you look troubled.”
Smart was a giant character. His smile beamed, betraying the man underneath. The rumours had always been there. Smart's rise to being one of Europe’s finest and most respected financial minds had been nothing short of staggering. Stories suggested that it was his reputation and connections that had engineered Liechtenstein into a tax haven for businesses. He was a close personal friend of the prince, while American newspapers had recently called him “one of the five most influential people in global economy”. But such success and titles had come at a price and that ridiculous nickname was the least of his concerns. Smart had fled his native England to escape persecution ten years earlier, and had called in favours from newly capitalist Russia. While his office regularly graced royalty it also saw meticulous, scheming faux-gangsters, and international money launderers. He considered it philosophically; meetings such as this were a necessary evil. He took a drag on a cigar and a whiskey from his tumbler. Benny Razumikov was a necessary evil.
“I saw you in the papers, brother Velvet” said Razumikov with an amused smile. “It is truly a privilege to know such an esteemed man…the fourth most influential man in finance I believe?” He chuckled at Smart's discomfort. Rhetorical victories over such a man made him feel alive.
Smart leaned back in his chair. “It is most…gracious…of you to care, brother. But please, to what small mercy do I owe this visit?” the distaste in his voice was in danger of boiling over and he knew it. He smiled, remembering meetings with men of finance whom he had detested.
Benny stood up. He inhaled sharply and took in the grandeur of the room around him. “Diamonds bring me here batuchka. Diamonds…and your old friend Leyland Rondel.” Checkmate.
Smart's brain surged into life. If before he had been merely humouring this treacherous slug, he now wanted to know everything he had to say. Rondel wasn’t a necessary evil. He was evil in its most grotesque and pure form. An image of Lucifer from the final canto of ‘Inferno’ caught his eye. Painted just above the door, he had admired its elegance for years. Now it seemed to mock him.