Adams Licorice Hotel, East Wing Cigar Room.
Sterling sat in an armchair in front of the fireplace.
He was portly, with a ruddy complexion and short, thick fingers, one of which bore a massive gold ring.
He held a glass of expensive cognac, his eyes filled with undisguised mockery.
"A rare guest."
Sterling looked at Leo as he walked in.
"Mr. Wallace, if I recall correctly, just the other day your spiritual mentor, Sanders, was on TV screaming about how he wants to either throw us in prison or slap us with a ninety-percent punitive tax."
Sterling set down his glass and pointed to the bill in Leo's hand.
"And now you come running to me, holding a document filled with words like 'green energy' and 'carbon neutral'?"
"Are you asking me to commit suicide? Or do you want me to sponsor your little environmentalist utopia?"
"Stop dreaming, young man. We dig coal, we drill for oil. We have petroleum running through our veins, not solar power that only works for two hours a day."
