George flicked his red silk tie into place and smiled with contentment at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He opened his mouth and flossed his white teeth, taking special care with his new filling. The pain had subsided since the night before. The gold cufflinks enhanced his white shirt. His pants had a perfect line down the centre of each leg, falling neatly onto his polished black shoes. A fistful of gel helped his brown curly hair to shine and look wet. His wrinkles and crow’s feet were hidden with daily use of special hand and face creams. Not even his wife knew that he wore a slight touch of mascara under his eyes for the past decade. Even though he was fifty three, he felt and looked forty. In his line of work, appearance is as important as typing skills are to a secretary. He turned off the shaving light and opened the door quietly. He made sure not to disturb his better half, asleep in the king size bed in the master bedroom. He could hear the light snore from under the goose feathered duvet as he pulled the door behind him. He was on time, his watch read 5.27 a.m.
The Bank of Immorality (Extract)
