His Personal Assistant
Graham Westin stood before one of the floor to ceiling windows in his bedroom, staring moodily at the city spread out below him. Lights twinkled in the darkness, but no sound from outside could be heard. He lifted the crystal tumbler and took a healthy swig of 200 year old scotch. It slid down his throat, smooth, velvety warm, to burn pleasantly in his stomach. He looked at his reflection in the glass. At 36, he was in better shape than most men his age. Working out was his way of relaxing....