No One's POV

Jim sat around with Anthony and a few of his close cronies casually sipping from a glass of whiskey in a crystal tumbler.

"You know, I couldn't have done it without you, Mr. Moriarty, sir." Anthony says, smoking on a cigarette and holding his own glass of whiskey. "So, a toast to you." He holds up his glass. "And, to a new future and my future bride…"

"Bride?" Jim comments as he toasts politely, taking a small sip, not one for heavy drinking, rather out of social necessity; honestly, these men were such ruffians and vulgar morons it made him want to shoot everyone just because he could.

"Oh yes… She's such a lady. Refined as it is. Richard Morgan's daughter. She'll be so nice to…. Break." Anthony laughs crassly, rather inebriated by now; if he hadn't been, perhaps he would have noticed the predatory glint in Moriarty's gaze and the edge of danger that hinted in the Consulting Criminal's form.

Jim silently clenches his hand around his crystal glass, waving Sebastian over, Sebastian already knowing what his boss was going to ask before he was and hoping that Moriarty wouldn't dump his body in the Thames over this; Sebastian knew his boss' stance on such matters, he had made it quite clear in the past.

"A girl, Seb? Not part of the deal." Jim hiss in a low growl.

"Another round of drinks… For my impending nuptials." Anthony cheers drunkenly.

Jim rolls his eyes silently before grabbing his jacket to leave; where was the class? Obviously long since gone.

The computer screen and the file on display glared back at Jim as the Consulting Criminal read over it and evaluated the information presented to him, the low light in his office irritating him for no particular reason, and the quietness of the late night descending on Jim's large mansion as he settled in for the night to work on business and nurse a cup of tea; after all, he may be a Consulting Criminal, but he was British.

Richard Morgan

CEO of Morgan Enterprise

DOB: March 26, 1959

Married: Elena Thompson in 1980

Daughter, Annalisa Callista Morgan, born May 17, 1987 at Wellington Hospital Central.

Residence: 345 SE 900 St. Weybridge, England 98623-886

Several speculations of domestic abuse due to hospitalizations; no official files or claims.

Jim shoved himself away from the desk, unable to finish reading the file Sebastian had compiled, the file still seeming to glare at him as it remained open on the computer screen.

"Sebastian! What is this!?" Jim demands, slamming his hand down on his desk and pointing to the file he had open.

"The file on Richard Morgan… For the deal Anthony asked us to help pave the way for, Boss." Sebastian answers, unsure exactly what his boss' mood was; one could never really be one hundred percent certain.

"I do not sell girls! How many times do I need to make myself clear!? I do not deal in the slave trade. Arranged marriage!? What fool do you take me for?" Jim rants, an erratic, maniac look in his expression.

"The- the girl could have agreed, Boss…"

Jim goes silent for a moment, as if looking at Sebastian as if he was piecing him a part piece by piece.

"Seb, Seb, Seb…" Jim tsks, as if disappointed, shaking his head slightly. "What year is it now? I am a Criminal Mastermind…" Jim emphasizes, making hand gestures. "Far from where I have begun in my humble beginnings… Yes, many things have stayed the same… But, many things have changed. I don't deal in these things. SO HOW MANY TIMES DO I NEED TO MAKE MYSELF CLEAR!? We should be beyond this!" Jim roars, clearly very upset and passionate about the subject.

"This is an insult to me. Hayes is a brute. A tyrant. And he thinks he can pull one over on me?" Jim mutters. "What right does he have? And after his last wife…"

"No, no, no… We're going to sort this out… I CANNOT let this slide. Then what will everyone think?" Jim demands.

"Yes, Boss." Sebastian nods, having no other choice but to follow his boss out.

The look in the Consulting Criminal's eyes was near maniac when he burst into the large manor of Anthony Hayes, startling Anthony from his own work.

"Why hello there!" Jim waves as if to hide the danger and mania hinting in his eyes, but it would be hard to miss, the Consulting Criminal prowled, his form lithe and dangerous, speaking of gun mental, blood, and predatory power and something inherently deadly.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"Well…" Jim stalks forward, his compact form now shifting beneath his Westwood suit. "I'm afraid, Hayes. I'm here to personally inform you, the deal with Morgan Enterprise is terminated."

"You- you can't do that!" He sputters, but the shake in his tone indicates he had some intellect to be afraid.

"I OWN you, Hayes. I MADE you." Jim yells, his teeth bared like a lion. "From the unimportant little crime boss you were… Scuttling among the rats… Suffocating among the leeches… So, you'll find, I can. I was doing this as a favor. For what you did for me. But, no one controls me. And, no one can get one over on me. I find it absolutely ridiculous, an insult, that you believed you could hide something from me." Jim slams his hand down on the desk.

"Your life is my favor. Be thankful for me sparing your life and my graceful mercy." Jim glares at Anthony, his face inches away from Hayes. "Perhaps next time, you'll think before you attempt to pull one over me… I see everything."