The meeting took place at The Independent's headquarters in Canary Wharf.
Mr. Whitney, the editor-in-chief of The Independent, was a middle-aged man—glasses perched low on his nose, short, slightly overweight, and carrying the tired energy of someone who had spent far too long wrestling with budgets and deadlines.
"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Richard," he said, extending his hand politely.
"Likewise, Mr. Whitney. And this is my assistant, Larry."
When else in your life can you casually introduce the future most powerful man in the world as your assistant?
Richard certainly not going to miss that chance.
Larry Fink coughed awkwardly, pretending not to smile.
The conversation started with some small talk first before Richard got to the point.
"Mr. Whitney, you should already know why we're here."
