Arthur swallowed hard and asked.
"Who are you?"
The man said nothing. He stood. He was of average height, slim, dressed in dark clothes that gave nothing away. He moved closer to the desk and swept one arm across the surface. Documents, correspondence, the inkwell, the small framed photograph of the company's founding — all of it went off the edge and hit the floor.
Arthur's jaw tightened.
He opened his mouth to tell but slammed it closed when the man placed a gun on the cleared surface of the desk.
Arthur closed his mouth.
The room was very quiet.
Arthur looked at the gun. He looked at the mask. He looked at the hands and the gun. He ran through what he knew and what his options were, in approximately four seconds.
"Who are you?" he said again. Quieter this time, careful not to annoy the man with the fun.
