The man’s limousine was obsidian black and sleek, a modern thing with chrome wheels and lining. He ordered a towel to be thrown on a seat before I could sit down.

There were a few minutes of silence. Trees flashed by in the tinted windows like temporary, golden paintings. The man looked out one of these.

“He’s not going to be touching any of my things, daddy, is he?” a feminine voice asked. I looked over and suddenly noticed a young girl – maybe one or two years younger than I was – sitting opposite her father.

“If it does, it’s gone.” The implication was clear.

I looked at the girl. She was young, as I said, and looked capable of handling herself if need be but dependent on her rich father. She had light brown hair and intense gray eyes, the kind that hate was bred in. They must’ve come from her father.

“Daddy, he’s looking at me,” she said.

“It won’t, if it knows what’s good for it.”

I averted my eyes and looked outside at the world passing by – the world I would not be allowed to know.