Remember your place, Cathleen

A day full of meetings meant Xavier was in a bad mood. His thumb pressed the screen, and a message launched into the void. He tapped his expensive pen on the maple table, each click echoing his growing disinterest. Suits and ties blurred into a parade of greed around him, their mouths moving in a symphony of bullshit. His thoughts were with Cathleen, his wife. He wanted to know how she was doing after she heard about her stepmother. He knew she wasn't going to attend the funeral. One thing about Cathleen, she didn’t know how to pretend, and Xavier knew that very well.

"Mr. Knight?" A voice cut through. Xavier didn't flinch. The meeting room felt small, and claustrophobic.

"Excuse me," he growled, standing abruptly. Chairs scraped. Murmurs swelled. But he was out, the door slamming behind him. He then sent a text message to Cathleen with an address for her to come meet him.

The drive was smooth, an antidote to the stifling hours before. He pulled up, a sleek black car purring to a halt