The reception area of the City Council Speaker's Office.
The walls were covered in deep red wallpaper, hung with photographs mounted in heavy, golden frames.
They were photos of Thomas Moretti with the past few Mayors of Pittsburgh.
From the earliest, a World War II veteran mayor wearing a formal hat, to the recently unseated Martin Carter Wright.
In the photos, they were smiling, shaking hands, or signing documents.
And Moretti was always standing beside them, or just slightly behind.
His hair had gone from black to white, his face from smooth to wrinkled, but his smile was like an unchanging mask.
Leo sat on the somewhat sagging leather sofa, looking at the photos on the wall.
These photos told everyone who walked in here: Mayors were transient. They came and went. Some moved up, some went to prison, some were forgotten.
But he, Moretti, was permanent.
He was the true master of this building.
Leo glanced at the watch on his wrist.
Twelve-twenty.
