by Marcus L. Rowland
The party's lavish, but Sam knows who's paying. He circulates around the hall, speaks to celebrities, holds a glass but doesn't drink. Eventually someone leads him to the back room where the real business will be done. The man waiting has dark hair, and a check for $250,000.
"I'm sorry," says Sam, "My instructions are to refuse your donation."
"Would you prefer cash?"
"Okay." He smiles. "Then I'd like to make a personal donation instead, nothing to do with Wolfram and Hart."
"I'm sorry," Sam says again.
"It's okay." Clearly it isn't.
Sam apologises again and leaves him brooding.