Nine o'clock at night. The north wind howled, a biting chill in the air.
Ian Sheffield stood before the window, looking out at the dwindling lights.
Adam Holloway knocked on the door. "Sir."
"Come in."
The man inside didn't turn. He asked with his back to him, and the grimness in his voice alone was enough to reveal his mood. "Is it taken care of?"
Adam Holloway bowed slightly. "It's all taken care of. The Sheffield Family must be in utter chaos right now. But, Sir... in suppressing them, we've also incurred significant losses."
It was a classic case of what the old saying describes.
To injure the enemy by a thousand, one must lose eight hundred.
"As long as we didn't end up in the red, it's fine."
Ian Sheffield's voice was light, but having served him for so long, Adam Holloway knew this was a sign of his anger.
