James’s office is an imposing space, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the London skyline.

It's sparsely furnished with sleek, modern furniture and a large mahogany desk cluttered with files, a laptop, and an old-fashioned leather-bound notebook.

He sat with his usual air of arrogance, with his crisp suit and perfectly styled hair, and with a dry, almost sardonic tone, he breaks the silence.

“I didn’t think they’d send you,” he drawled, his voice low. “Do you have the files?”