The high altitude glass conservatory attached to the Green City penthouse was bathed in the pale, ethereal light of a full terrestrial moon. The thick canopy of blooming night orchids cast long, elegant shadows across the polished teakwood floor. It was a space entirely dedicated to organic peace and domestic sanctuary. Yet, for this one specific night, Consort Noir had requested that his heavy mahogany desk be moved from the corporate lounge directly into the centre of the conservatory.
He wished to draft the absolute final document of his career completely surrounded by the beautiful, thriving life he had successfully protected.
