Destiny, it would appear, has the ridiculous notion lodged inside its pathetic mind that it actually holds some form of power over this household. It is wrong. I shall not let myself be the pawn of a non-entity. This household is my legacy - it will not be reduced to burning rubble on my watch. If this means I must tear apart the heavens in order to ensure superiority is mine, then so be it.
The town car glided smoothly over the motorway, much liken to a swan sailing across a lake; serene, elegant and majestic to the eye. But the eye fails to see the furious and relentless paddling of the swan’s feet below the water, as the eye also fails to see the ruthless and unremitting pounding of the six-litre, twelve-cylinder, twin turbo-charged engine of the Bentley Continental Flying Spur. This imagery of the swan coasted across Christian’s mind as he reclined in the plush leather interior of the Bentley, trying to get comfortable but failing in his efforts. The sense of foreboding as regards the meeting with his father was gnawing on his mind like a plague-ridden rat. The notion of his father being rat-like was highly amusing to Christian, and within moments of the idea flitting across his brain he was quietly chuckling to himself. However, the noise attracted Jameson’s attention, albeit for a nanosecond, but he checked his ward through the rear-view mirror. Christian realised he was not acting to his position and silenced himself, straightening up in his seat. He began to silently, and methodically preen his suit (to ensure there were no creases upon his arrival at his destination – for that would simply not be proper).
And so the journey to his father’s city office continued in that manner. Jameson’s attention fixed wholly on his job, Christian’s being fixed attentively on his appearance. ‘Natural order’ continued like it always had in the Blake family.