I don’t believe in goodness or God or any happy ending that isn’t paid for in advance. I’m not a good man, and I’ve never pretended to be. And when they press the pen to the paper and the ink flows so crisp and dark, like some kind of inky, terrible blood, that’s when it’s done. You play golf or see the ballet or compare four-thousand-dollar suits and ten-thousand-dollar watches, and then you casually apply the leverage, the bladed facts against the soft underbellies, and handshake by handshake, you build yourself something new and shimmering and golden.Īnd when they’re at the precipice, the point of no return, when they are looking behind them and see their last chance to back out-that’s when you hand them the pen.Īnd they take it into their hands and it’s solid and weighty and cool to the touch, and they uncap it to see the engraved gold nib ready to drip with the promise of money and power. You wine them, dine them, flash them smiles, slip them gifts, massage them with compliments and praise and give them the old hey-buddy-buddy. With the right pen, a man can rule the world.
This isn’t the first book I’ve dedicated to you, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. Proofing: Erica Russikoff: Erica’s Editing Services, Michele Ficht No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.Ĭover Design: Letitia Hasser: RBA Designs
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