Kate was stunned by the size of the spacious sitting room. Several groupings of furniture lent themselves to seating as few as two guests or as many as ten. Here, too, ornamental plasterwork decorated the walls and ceilings. The raspberry colored velvet upholstery covering the couches and chairs complemented the pale green oriental carpets and lightly textured draperies. The gold-colored lamps with their creamy white shades, the paintings in their ornate alcoves, and the open fireplace with family pictures on the mantel, gave Kate an overwhelming feeling of comfort and peace.
She relished the novelty and thrill of having been summoned to this prestigious mans home. The sheer beauty of the place far surpassed her expectations. However, she was becoming suspicious about the reason for this visit. Now that she had received an orientation to his home, and notwithstanding her first impressions of the man, she was anxious to learn why she was here. What could a mere reporter do for this rich, influential man?
He began to speak soberly, contradicting his earlier spontaneity. I will tell you a story you may have difficulty believing, he said, softly. I was not born into this lifestyle. It is ironic that there is such a discrepancy between what I was and what I am. My father left the United States when I was about two years old. He ran a junk store in the slums of Winnipeg when I was a kid. He was a vulgar man but he knew how to fool people into thinking they were buying something rare or valuable. It was under his tutelage that I learned to be a fraud.
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