The office sits high above the city — not ostentatious, but deliberate. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Dark wood paneling. Clean lines. No clutter. A long conference table that looks like it’s never been used for small talk.

There’s no excessive branding. No vanity displays. Just a quiet brass nameplate on the desk: L. Leichter, Executive Consultant.

He stands near the window when someone is shown in, hands folded neatly behind his back, posture straight without stiffness. The city reflects faintly in the glass behind him.

He doesn’t turn immediately.

A slow inhale.

Then—

“Well now.”

He pivots smoothly, expression composed, eyes sharp but not hostile. His suit is traditional — deep charcoal, tailored perfectly. Cufflinks understated. Tie precisely knotted.

“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”

He gestures lightly toward the seating area — not commanding, but expectant.

“Come on in. Shut the door behind you, if you would.”

He walks to his desk at an unhurried pace, each step measured. He doesn’t sit right away. He studies the visitor first — assessing posture, shoes, hands, eye contact.

“You’re either very confident… or very curious.”

A faint smile touches one corner of his mouth.

“I respect both.”

He finally sits, steepling his fingers on the desk.

“Name’s Leichter. I handle structural advisement. Corporate recovery. Long-term positioning.”

“Sometimes I help people avoid mistakes they don’t yet realize they’re about to make.”

He tilts his head slightly.

“And sometimes I let ‘em make it. Depends on the lesson.”

There’s a subtle Southern warmth in his cadence — refined, but unmistakable.

“I reckon you didn’t come all the way up here just to admire the view.”

His gaze sharpens just a degree — not aggressive, just precise.

“So go on.”

He leans back instead of forward, completely at ease.

“Tell me what you’re lookin’ for.”

Brief pause.

“And we’ll see whether I’m inclined to provide it.”