Chapter 1
Michael Castle was swirling a finger of Scotch around in the crystal whiskey glass in his hand. He was in his new digs, and it was barely five in the evening, but Michael didn’t think much of having a drink a little on the early side. This was a celebration. Another new acquisition, which meant that the software company his own was competing with for the last few months was now a part of his brand. He scooped up the competitor when there was a drop in its stock price. Michael chuckled softly to himself at the thought that a few years ago he had set himself a task of taking ten years to gain market monopoly in providing software security. He was steadily achieving that in less than five.
Michael tipped the glass into his mouth and in one quick swing had emptied it. He felt the warm amber liquid course through his throat and as an immediate effect, it tingled his fingertips.
“Michael!” He heard a voice behind him and turned to find George Manfield at the door.
“Good evening George.” Michael smiled and raised his empty glass at him.
“When I heard Michael Castle’s moved into Chelsea, I couldn’t help but stop by and have a look at the place. This is magnificent!” George had walked in, his eyes darting around the room, making quick mental notes of the polished white marble floor and the rich red-gold curtains on the windows.
“You’re very welcome.” Michael led him to the bar he had arranged to be installed in the room that morning. An army of crystal decanters lay waiting on the wooden counter; Single Malt from Edinburgh, Triple Distilled Whiskey from Dublin…and the list went on.
“Glenfiddich?” Michael asked, reaching for another glass. George nodded and smiled and Michael poured a generous finger into the glass and handed it to him. They clinked their glasses together.
“Welcome to the neighborhood Michael.” George said cheerily and Michael half-smiled. They took large sips of their respective drinks and Michael led the way again, across the drawing room outside to the long wide balcony which ran along the length of the room. Freshly painted and squeakily cleaned French windows were kept open for them to simply step through.
“This view is absolutely stunning!” George sounded excited as he rushed to lean over the wrought-iron railing and look over the massive rectangular courtyard and beyond, the pristinely maintained Kensington Gardens. Marble fountains adorned the courtyard downstairs and water sprouted from the mouths of fairies and skimpily clad maidens.
“Who are your neighbors?” George asked, turning to look back at Michael.
“I don’t know them yet and I hope I don’t have many” Michael said and George laughed. George was an English country boy, went to a strict boarding school, while his family boasted of sprawling property all over the most expensive neighborhoods of London. Fortunately, George wasn’t one of those people, that London was full-to-the-brim with - posh Britishers who snubbed a self-made American man like Michael. George rejoiced in it instead, was increasingly fascinated by the wealth that Michael had managed to amass at such an early age, and encouraged him to spend more time in London.
As for Michael, as his company flourished and grew by leaps and bounds every day; he himself had less to do every day. This meant that just spending time in his penthouse in Manhattan didn’t give him enough to do. He wanted more. Visiting London just for business trips wasn’t enough anymore, he wanted to get to know the city, spend some actual time here. Buying this house in Chelsea, in the heart of affluent London was the most obvious choice for him. Now he had something else to do, besides looking at people jogging in Central Park from his bedroom window in Manhattan.
“So how do you plan on dividing your time between Manhattan and London?” George asked, sipping from his glass. Michael sighed.
“Now that I have a house here, I can spend
Michael Castle was swirling a finger of Scotch around in the crystal whiskey glass in his hand. He was in his new digs, and it was barely five in the evening, but Michael didn’t think much of having a drink a little on the early side. This was a celebration. Another new acquisition, which meant that the software company his own was competing with for the last few months was now a part of his brand. He scooped up the competitor when there was a drop in its stock price. Michael chuckled softly to himself at the thought that a few years ago he had set himself a task of taking ten years to gain market monopoly in providing software security. He was steadily achieving that in less than five.
Michael tipped the glass into his mouth and in one quick swing had emptied it. He felt the warm amber liquid course through his throat and as an immediate effect, it tingled his fingertips.
“Michael!” He heard a voice behind him and turned to find George Manfield at the door.
“Good evening George.” Michael smiled and raised his empty glass at him.
“When I heard Michael Castle’s moved into Chelsea, I couldn’t help but stop by and have a look at the place. This is magnificent!” George had walked in, his eyes darting around the room, making quick mental notes of the polished white marble floor and the rich red-gold curtains on the windows.
“You’re very welcome.” Michael led him to the bar he had arranged to be installed in the room that morning. An army of crystal decanters lay waiting on the wooden counter; Single Malt from Edinburgh, Triple Distilled Whiskey from Dublin…and the list went on.
“Glenfiddich?” Michael asked, reaching for another glass. George nodded and smiled and Michael poured a generous finger into the glass and handed it to him. They clinked their glasses together.
“Welcome to the neighborhood Michael.” George said cheerily and Michael half-smiled. They took large sips of their respective drinks and Michael led the way again, across the drawing room outside to the long wide balcony which ran along the length of the room. Freshly painted and squeakily cleaned French windows were kept open for them to simply step through.
“This view is absolutely stunning!” George sounded excited as he rushed to lean over the wrought-iron railing and look over the massive rectangular courtyard and beyond, the pristinely maintained Kensington Gardens. Marble fountains adorned the courtyard downstairs and water sprouted from the mouths of fairies and skimpily clad maidens.
“Who are your neighbors?” George asked, turning to look back at Michael.
“I don’t know them yet and I hope I don’t have many” Michael said and George laughed. George was an English country boy, went to a strict boarding school, while his family boasted of sprawling property all over the most expensive neighborhoods of London. Fortunately, George wasn’t one of those people, that London was full-to-the-brim with - posh Britishers who snubbed a self-made American man like Michael. George rejoiced in it instead, was increasingly fascinated by the wealth that Michael had managed to amass at such an early age, and encouraged him to spend more time in London.
As for Michael, as his company flourished and grew by leaps and bounds every day; he himself had less to do every day. This meant that just spending time in his penthouse in Manhattan didn’t give him enough to do. He wanted more. Visiting London just for business trips wasn’t enough anymore, he wanted to get to know the city, spend some actual time here. Buying this house in Chelsea, in the heart of affluent London was the most obvious choice for him. Now he had something else to do, besides looking at people jogging in Central Park from his bedroom window in Manhattan.
“So how do you plan on dividing your time between Manhattan and London?” George asked, sipping from his glass. Michael sighed.
“Now that I have a house here, I can spend
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