“Now you listen to me, Mr. Sloan. I have been on my feet the moment that phone call came in. I have run myself ragged trying to fulfill your requests. I’m sorry that they don’t have any more slippers at the department store. I’m sorry that your cigar tastes like tree bark. I’m sorry that the air in this room is slowly choking you. I’ve fetched your slippers, I’ve replaced your cigars, I’ve opened windows and I’m so very close to throwing you out of one of them right now.”

William Randolph Sloan stuttered, “Hold on there Marg-”

“And more than anything, Mr. Sloan. I am so very sorry that your little girl has been kidnapped. I cannot tell you how much it breaks my heart to see you pace, to see you ask questions that no one can give you the answers to, to not eat for two weeks straight. It breaks my heart, Mr. Sloan. But you need to listen to me. Sitting in this office, walking back and forth, pounding on your desk, ordering people about without the slightest amount of respect or gratitude- you cannot continue this type of behavior. You need to sleep. You need to eat. You need to take care of yourself.”

William Randolph Sloan’s face fell to a blank. Margie could make out the slightest amount of movement in his nostrils; she knew what was coming.

“You need to take care of yourself, Mr. Sloan. Not only for your sake or the sake of the people around you, but for the sake of your little girl. For the sake of Molly.”

Margie hated to pull the one last thread that was keeping the faux brave front of Mr. Sloan basted to his exterior, but she knew William Randolph Sloan better than her own mother. Tugging that thread would be the only way to help him shed his suit of fear and worry, leaving him metaphorically naked. And a metaphorically naked William Randolph Sloan is, indeed, a sight to behold.

In Margie’s opinion, at least.