23rd December 1911
"All you need is to sign this contract and all the money would be transferred to your father's bank account," The man spoke in a coaxing tone, the blend of sweet honey intertwined.
It was two days until Christmas. There were thickening layers of snow, draped over all buildings, large and small, like a blanket; an icy blanket it was. However there was one man, who despite all the rough wintry weather, refused to let this affect him. Maximum Hawthorne refused to let the "joy" of winter celebrations embrace him, and sweep him away like the wind of lost fools. He was a hard-working man, a man of grace, a man of intelligence, a man of charm and most of all; a man of Quality.
Maximum Hawthorne was seated there, his elbow resting on the chair arm, his hand swept into his thinking gesture. Across him, past the hand-carved wooden table was an aged man. He was no other than Grey himself. The atmosphere was calming, but tense. Greed swarmed the air like bees, with a tweak of wickedness.
If he did this, he would be able to get enough money to 'help' Vincent's father. He lifted his right eyebrow, perfectly shaped and briefly, skimmed his fingers across the glossy silver pen, which shined under the low light. It lay there, perfectly positioned and poised, for his taking, a deal with the devil. He could feel the greediness in the man's eyes, as it trailed, attracted to the movement of his long, slender fingers.
"And how do I know I can trust you not to betray me," He spoke lightly of the situation, even though the atmosphere was tense.
A sweet mocking smile quirked up in the corner of the man's mouth. He angled himself, leaning over, the gleam of his eyes penetrating through Max. He had appeared to depict a dominant role.
His voice was sultry and sweet, but Max could taste the venom that hung in the air like a sun's ray.
"I expect that shouldn't be a matter."
His response was no shorter than the aging man's, yet it held a simple risqué hold, that gave him an over-view of what was to come, if he defied Max. He wasn't moved by Max's silent threat, a serene smile plastered on his smile, but it did slightly twitch.
Max unrolled the sleeves of his pastel blue dress shirt, dragging both sleeves down, to button them up. He moved his stare to the man's expectant glare. He most likely, thought Max was trying to drag time along.
Grabbing the silver spectacle of a pen, he quickly scribbled his signature at the bottom and placed the leather flap down. Across him, he could feel the man heaving out of a sigh of relief. He handed it to him. The damage was already done.
"I'm already late for important things to come," He declared standing up. He held out his wrinkled hand, with a plastered smile on his face. Max took it, holding back a wince and shook it. Each other, not quite trusting, were testing each other's dominance, in a tense hard-gripping handshake. Finally, he let go.
"It's been a pleasure to speak to you. I am glad to work with you."
He nodded, formally, and grabbed his suitcase, a black leather suitcase, and headed out of the room before the man could say anything.
The man he had spoken to, was no other than one of the Grey's himself. He was Jeffrey Grey, head of the Grey family, and CEO of Grey Inc.
Shutting his eyes, he breathed another sigh of relief, as he stopped by the pavement. He pulled out his timepiece from the flap of his jacket. The timepiece felt brassy in his palm. It was adorned in gold and glass, which made it a simple but useful timepiece.
He stepped into the car, sliding in with grace,that only a Hawthorne could handle. He glanced at the interior rear mirror, its brassy complexion shining back on him. At that perfect moment, his chauffeur chose to peer at the mirror, meeting Max's steely cold eyes.
"Home. I would like to go home."
It had been almost a week since he had last sighted Vincent's presence. It was a surprise to find him in the sitting room, charming his flustered mother. A rich laughter erupted. He could almost sense Vincent's chest heaving from laughter through the thick walls in the corridor.
Knotting his fingers together, he stepped into the doorway. Laughter stopped, as their eyes set on Max. He straightened his back, flashing a confident dextrous smile that only such an opulent man of Quality could formulate. Light footsteps thudded upon the floor, reflecting his rapidly beating heart. His blue eyes darted over towards his mother's comprehensive blank mask. Confusion dubbed her eyes for barely a moment.