Cost of Ordinary

The next morning, Ernest arrived at the Helmarte regional headquarters at precisely seven forty-two.

Arthur Pendelton was already there.

This immediately annoyed Ernest.

It was not because Arthur had arrived early. Punctuality was an admirable virtue, even if Arthur rarely practiced it without an ulterior motive.

No, what annoyed Ernest was that Arthur was comfortably reclining behind the desk in Ernest's private office, feet propped near a blotter, drinking Ernest's personal roast of imported highland coffee.

"You have your own office down the hall," Ernest pointed out, standing in the doorway with his leather briefcase.

Arthur lowered his morning newspaper by an inch. "Mine doesn't have this particular coffee."

"It is the exact same roasted bean from the executive commissary pantry."

"Then yours tastes better purely because it is stolen," Arthur replied smoothly, taking another slow sip.