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[i]Shit shit shit shit shit. Running late.[/i]

David ran up the steps and frantically typed in the four-digit code to the office building. God [i]dammit[/i], first therapy session with a new shrink and he was [i]late[/i]. What a good first impression he'd set, right? As he burst through the door and up the flights of stairs to Dr McCoy's office, he made sure his messenger bag (with camera and voice recorder still inside) was secured tightly to his back and wasn't bouncing around and hitting any walls. The rain had come at the least opportune time; catching him without an umbrella or a convenient mode of transport other than the irregular city buses that ran through the area. His jacket was soaked, so were his shoes and his jeans, but thankfully not his inner polo shirt, tank top or his bag, which was waterproof just for this sort of day.

His footsteps echoed loud in the relative silence of the stairwell. Earlier he'd seen someone else enter the building before him, but since he was still on the bus at the time, he knew he couldn't catch up. That being said, he also didn't want to be late. Thankfully the doctor's office wasn't too high up and as he approached the door, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a worn, crumpled napkin from the diner he'd had dinner at. David wiped his face and hair (mostly) dry with the square of paper before crumpling it and stuffing it back into his pocket. Then, making sure his bag was still there and his clothes were all straight and mostly dry, he pushed open the door.

He was immediately hit by the middle of a conversation. The older man in the white lab coat was clearly Dr McCoy, and the ring of individuals he was a part of were obviously his patients. [i]That group therapy thing the letter had talked about,[/i] thought David, [i]these must be the rest of the people that got roped in.[/i] With a sheepish smile and a wave, Sawyer shuffled his way past those seated near the door and found himself an empty space next to the man he'd heard identified as 'Mister Dreymund'. He sighed as his butt hit the chair, relaxing a little as he placed his bag on his lap and tried to cool himself off from the run upstairs.

"Sorry doc, bus ran late. Got caught in the downpour outside."

David took stock of the room he was in and the people within. A fairly well-stocked office, the man right next to him was a Mr Dreymund. Didn't look too bad, but from the way his clothes were also rather damp, he figured this was the man he'd seen enter the building right before he did. The others were varying in age; two women, one older lady who looked like she'd been through hell and back with the way her stare cut right through him, the other a young specimen who clearly wasn't pleased with what was going on and the whole therapy session she was in. Another larger, muscled fellow who had introduced himself as Joe and had been involved in cartel business, sat next to Dr McCoy. And last but not least was a man all too familiar to him.

[i]John Dorman-Smith. Wow. Good to know even the rich and powerful still need to see a shrink every now and then.[/i]

He'd reported on the man's company before; a sparkling jewel amidst the churning sea of import-export companies that had earned the old man a lot of money. In his youth, he was reputedly a trader who ran on risk and always got what he came for. David wondered briefly what on earth a man of his stature was doing in a downtown shrink's office. Then he let his mind relax so he could listen to whatever else transpired in the room.