Albert grabbed his hat and left, barely containing his anger. He found his carriage waiting and drove straight to the newspaper office, a dim, dusty space that looked like every journalist's workplace since the beginning of time, cluttered with ink-stained desks and the faint smell of old paper.
The receptionist announced him. Beauchamp, clearly surprised, called out, "Send him in!"
Albert burst through the door, scattering newspapers across the floor with aggressive strides, his breath still sharp from the ride.
"This way, Albert!" Beauchamp said, extending his hand with forced cheerfulness. "Have you lost your mind, or are you here for a friendly breakfast? Find a seat, there's one by that potted plant, the only living thing in this paper graveyard."
"I'm here about your newspaper," Albert said coldly, fixing Beauchamp with a hard stare.
"Oh? What about it?"
"I want a correction published."
"Regarding what? Please, sit down."
