Wow. I’m glad he didn’t do my best man speech.

Grant dipped his head to meet his enemy’s. McCormick was tall compared to most people he knew, and he hadn’t met anyone taller than him in over a year, but Grant stretched towards seven feet. For the first time since completing his doctorate, McCormick stood before someone who made him feel insignificant. Not just in stature, but in authority.

‘This suit cost me three thousand pounds,’ Grant continued, ‘back in the days of the good old British pound, of course. Way back from my father’s last days in charge of his oil company. I haven’t worn it since his funeral. Tonight was my chance to take off my shirt and jeans and… well, dress to kill. What a let-down this is.’

‘You look like the kind of man who loves a good suit,’ answered McCormick. ‘Fancy offices for your staff, Bach over the speakers… I bet you get suited up daily, just to look good in front of your subordinates.’

The domineering figure spat a laugh.

‘I’m Nicholas bloody Grant. I don’t have to impress anyone.’

McCormick could have smiled, were it not for the terrible truth behind Grant’s words. With the exception of Shannon, none of his friends had ever laid eyes on Grant in the flesh. For a year his friends had waged war against a name: an invisible figure with a larger-than-life reputation. Like gravity, or oxygen, or perhaps even the work of God, nobody saw Nicholas Grant in his physical form, but his impact was everywhere.

‘We don’t have much in common,’ Grant continued, ‘but I have to appreciate your drive to not impress people either. Your name will be forgotten the moment your friends are found and destroyed, but that doesn’t seem to discourage you. I like that.’

‘Oh, don’t try finding common ground between us,’ said McCormick wryly, ‘I’m sure I couldn’t possibly measure up to you.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Grant with a smile. ‘You mow down your enemies with the same mentality as me. You have only one goal, and anything and anyone is expendable in order to reach it. Isn’t that right? You must have known the death sentence you gave to Arnold Salter the moment you took his keycard, even if you released him to ease the weight on your conscience. And now his young ones will be cast into the Inner City. Always happens when a staff member dies. You must have known that too, but you took his keycard anyway. He had three kids, you know. And his wife died two years ago. His children only had a father to rely on.’

McCormick dipped his head.

I won’t let him make me feel guilty. He won’t trick me into think ing our side is as morally wrong as his.