Declan Perry sat in the chair as he went through the vaults of his mind, the portable record player turning in a far corner. Just to make sure everything was in order. Everything at its planned end, hardly an element Declan didn’t think of in advance; he rose from the chair.

Going to the window, Declan got his suit from where it was folded on the sill.

He got dressed deliberately, double-checking every element from the buttons to the hang of the silver chain of his pocket-watch. His polished shoes echoed off the hardwood floors, as Declan went to the double doors.

“Breakfast is on the table, sir.”

The butler stood to the right of the door, waiting to deliver his message.

“Thank you, Jones,” Declan said, in his Posh, London accent.

Declan took the spiral staircase down to the main floor, predicting each twist and turn. His hand on the banister was more of a habit than a safety concern.

With a heavy heart, Declan sat on the chair already pulled out for him. There were many more at the long table that stretched from one end of the dining room to the other.

Once the site of many memorable dinner parties, and other many affairs, the room as well as the manor had been quiet for many years.

Everything went according to plan, Declan wiping his mouth with a white linen napkin just when he needed to leave.

“Sir,” Chatterton said, as he opened the back door to Declan’s electric white limo.

His family were of the opinion that black limos were for gangsters and politicians. Basically the same thing in their opinion. Seeing both sets of society as made up mostly of crooks and liars, deceiving the citizens while they stole from them.

“Directly to the office, sir?”

“Yes, please, Chatterton.”

The limo started at a smooth hum, and Chatterton backed carefully onto the road.

His headphones on as the gears of the vintage Walkman turned, Declan reviewed documents for a meeting.

The light turned green, letting go deeper into the downtown streets. Already clogged by the morning rush.

The limo was slowed to a crawl, and Declan could see it all, as the world rolled by. Including the billboard for Perry Enterprises that always made him cringe.

They had said the business had to have a human face. Declan didn’t understand why it had to be his. Yet, there he was, leaning against the outside of the P. In what he was assured would come across as casual confidence.

“You might as well head back,” Declan said, opening the door.

“Sir?”

“It will be faster to walk.”

Stepping out onto the less crowded sidewalk, Declan joined the flow of suits heading towards the business district, soon blending into the crowd.

He heard him before he saw him. The panhandler had the best possible spot. All the richest citizens sure to walk past him at least twice a day. Four if they had lunch away from the office.

It didn’t seem to be doing much good though. The hat out in front of him stayed stubbornly empty, despite his best efforts to be polite. Aside from the few coins Delcan suspected the panhandler had put in there himself.

“Here you go.”

“Sorry?”

The panhandler looked up, shocked to get an actual reply.

“I don’t deal with hats,” Declan said, holding out a grip of bills, “I deal with people.”

“S-s-serious?”

“As a firing squad,” Declan said.

The panhandler rose from the pavement, putting the hat back on as he took the bills. It looked to Declan like the panhandler wanted to pinch himself.

“Have a good day,” Delcan said, before disappearing back into the flow of pedestrians.

Declan took every short-cut, and arrived at Perry Tower, at about the same time he would have had he stayed in the limo.

He popped the latch on his watch, and saw there were still fifteen minutes to spare.

“Sir!” Jake said, standing at attention behind the security desk.

“At ease,” Declan said, signing in.

An elevator opened as he arrived, and Declan moved smoothly into the empty car.

Listening to the hum of the machinery to silence the circus in his mind, Declan got into character. His employees expected it, and would be disappointed and confused if he didn’t make the effort.

“Good morning, sir,” Anna said, from the reception desk.

With little more than a nod, Declan marched straight to his corner office, and firmly closed the door.

What most upper executives did in their offices all day was a secret. Declan found himself spending a large chunk of his day playing Tetris.

The first-generation GameBoy sang as Declan beat another high score. There came a knock at the door, distracting Declan’s attention from his hot streak.

“Yes,” Declan asked.

“Your meeting with the owner of Victory Cupcakes is in twenty minutes, sir,” Janice said.

“Thank you, Janice.”

The limo was gone, so Declan hailed a cab. One stopped in five seconds flat when he waved a hundred.

“There’s more if you drive straight and get me to Victory Cupcakes in the next fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, boss!” the cabbie said, peeling away from the curb to a chorus of horns.

The latch on Delcan’s pocket-watch was released once again. There were three minutes to spare.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” he said, as he paid the cabbie a generous tip on top of the fare.

Declan walked through the door of Victory Cupcakes, breathing in the heavenly scent.

“What the f*** are you doing here?” Tuesday demanded.

“I have an appointment,” Declan said, his ton flat as a crepe.

“Down, girl.”

Declan and Tuesday looked to Lind Sigmundson. The genius who started Victory Cupcakes back in the day.

“Ms. Sigmundsun—” Declan said.

“Lind, please, we’ve been over this.”

“My apologies—”

“Mean nothing unless they are sincere,” Tuesday said.

“I’ll handle this, hon,” Lind said, “shall we.”

Tuesday stood down, still in a huff as Declan followed Lind into the back office.

It was still only a negotiation. One of many over the last years or so. The bakery was in some financial trouble, but Lind wasn’t sure about selling up.

“I don’t want to waste your time,” Lind said, before Declan had a chance to sit down.

“I appreciate that,” Declan said.

“I don’t want to sell, but I have to if I’m going to keep the doors open.”

“I understand.”

“No, you really don’t. There are others interested and I have to consider all offers. If I’m honest you are near the top of the list.”

“I see,” Declan said, “who else is on there?”

“Near you?”

“Yes.”

“Steve Anders.”

Declan’s face changed, just for a moment. Going from boyishly handsome to something resembling one of the gargoyles guarding St. Catherine’s.