He stood at the front, tall, suited, and neatly turned-out. He looked at us thoughtfully through his delicate spectacles and then he began.
He's Swiss. Long vowels and glottal consonants tumble awkwardly in his speech, delivered in a kind of drawn-out English, interspersed with quick adjustments of the tie.
And what a tie! It was made of silk, but the kind of silk that shimmered under the lights: scarlet-red, soft, expensive. It was the tie of affluence, strikingly brilliant against a classic white shirt.
He continued, explaining his plan, explaining the ... acquisition.
Every word was carefully chosen to help us feel as comfortable as possible with the minimum of real information. We make 'defence equipment' and 'military solutions'. We are a 'valuable asset' in this brave new world of the takeover.
I don't think anyone was fooled. What we are is replaceable cogs in an unfortunate machine.
"And at the back, as a little gift," he gestured as we turned our heads, "We have some chocolate. Lindt, I believe, is a great Swiss manufacturer."
There were hundreds of boxes of Lindor stacked in neat rows on a table. In all respects, we were being sugar-coated.
He smiled, warmly. Not cheese, not watches, not pen knives, and not discount vouchers for cuckoo clocks. Lovely warm, richly-crafted chocolate that smooths its way down your throat on a cold, wintry afternoon and makes things alright.
Everything had been calculated to perfection.
We have been bought.
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