Clement Rutherford was genuinely surprised to find that all his personal belongings fitted into a medium-sized box that he could comfortably carry out of his office. So many years of service, and this was all that he had to take with him. He was aware, as he packed the box, that all eyes were on him – all eyes – but when he left the office, no one would look at him directly. The men he had commanded for years either swivelled away from him or busied themselves with long-neglected paper work. It definitely was not the kind of send-off he felt he deserved. He wondered at their refusal to acknowledge what was happening, and decided that they were cowards all.

With a carton of HB pencils precariously balanced on top of the medium-sized box, Rutherford struggled to push the lift button. He was already safely in the lift when he saw Joseth enter the glass enclosure he had just vacated, carrying a medium-sized box of his own. As the doors were closing, he had enough time to see Joseth remove a carton of HB pencils from his box and place it on his desk.

Rutherford’s new office with the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the City of Kings was the kind of office a man worked hard to occupy one day. It was the kind of office that exuded its importance with expensive furniture and carpeting and the gradual suffusion of light throughout the day. Before Rutherford even had time to put the medium-sized box on the desk, a teaboy – his personal teaboy – entered his office and asked what he would like for tea. No more eating at the high table in the canteen for him. No more soggy, yet very delicious, egg-and-bacon sandwiches for ten o’clock tea for him. No more strictly two Highlanders or Shrewsbury biscuits for four o’clock tea for him. Now he could have tea whenever he asked for it. Now his lunches would be the creation of a professional chef and eaten in the executive dining hall with the rest of the top brass.

Rutherford could see how he was supposed to be happy with his promotion, but he was not. He placed the medium-sized box between a stack of letterhead stationery and an inkpad and rubber stamp set. From now on, that would be all that was required of him – his signature and stamp. Sure enough, when he opened the top drawer of his desk, there was an impressive array of fountain pens and an antique-looking wooden ink blotter. He looked at his luxurious surroundings and decided it was the kindest way to be put out to pasture. The trappings were awe-inspiring enough, but he was not fooled, just as none of the men downstairs were fooled; he knew that he was no longer a man with any real power.