"Mr Branson for Sir Richard," Tom barked angrily at the stony faced receptionist.
She smiled wickedly as she replied, "Yes, he's been expecting you,"
Leading him into the large, dark office and shutting the door behind her, she jumped when the roar of an Irishman engulfed the room.
"You bastard!" Tom snarled to the back of Richard's chair.
Slowly, the tycoon revealed himself and even Tom was shocked. What was once a handsome face now hung skeletal from bones. His suit, once pressed to perfection, now several sizes too large for him. In short, Sir Richard now looked what he truly was, half a man.
"Do you see what she has done to me?" He whispered.
"Mary didn't do this, you did this yourself,"
Richard stood and turned to look out of the iron bay window.
"I loved her you know, more than anyone knew, even myself,"
"So why publish this slander?! If you loved someone why would you bring them such pain, such anguish?" Tom shouted to the man's back.
"Oh, so you didn't enjoy my wedding present? Too bad, I'm sure the rest of London will,"
Holding his side he returned to his leather chair, protected from Tom by a magnificent mahogany desk.
"What do you mean will? It's been published already!" Balling his right hand into a fist, Tom had to refrain from knocking the man into the middle of next week.
"The paper you received will be published tomorrow, unless you meet my demands that is,"
Tom let his shoulders relax as he took a seat across from Carlisle.
"And what would they be exactly?"
Richard took a deep breath and began, "I suppose you you didn't notice my lack of staff, or the desolate state of this office,"
Tom shook his head, admitting to having been rather preoccupied upon his arrival.
"Give me a quarter of a million pounds and Mary's secrets will never be told,"
"Done." Removing his chequebook a hastily scribbling the amount and signing his name, he slid the paper across the desk. "That's my life's work right there, have it, but tell me why,"
Folding the parchment and slipping it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, Richard told Tom everything. How after Mary he felt such pain that he turned to heroin, how he had bankrupted his newspaper and now relied on blackmail to survive. Such a tale disgusted Tom, but the hurt in the man's eyes prevented him from calling Scotland Yard immediately.
"You know I'll be dead soon, this money will be returned as soon as I am," Richard whispered as Tom stood to leave.
"Look after her, won't you? See that she's happy,"
"I mean to make it my mission,"
The Bransons' left on their honeymoon that afternoon. No story beyond a congratulatory one was printed the next day.