“Yes, I was sorry to hear that you were unwell. It was all so sudden. As soon as my secretary informed me you were down here, I rushed straight over.”
Max Galbraith paced the small room, staring sadly at the man on the bed. His expensive shoes clattered across the tiled floor and squeaked as he spun around at each end. He shook his head and tutted to himself.
“I mean, if it could happen to you, a fit, healthy man at the height of his powers, a real power broker in this city, well, it could happen to any of us.”
Max turned his gaze and looked up at the window. He reached up and grabbed on of the bars in front of the glass.
“Not that you can see from there, Adam, but it really is a beautiful evening out there in the city. It feels almost criminal to be stuck in here. But that’s mental illness for you. You don’t get to pick and choose when it arrives. And yes, I know, I know, you don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. Well, Adam, I’ve had a word with your doctors and they assure me that you are quite, quite unwell.”
Max stepped back over to the bed and crouched down beside Adam, who returned a glassy-eyed stare.
“Yes, that’s right, Adam. You’ve got a nasty illness called having information that I need. I do hope you make a quick recovery. From here, the treatment looks even worse than the illness.”
