Four elderly men were seated at a table in a private dining room. They had been club members for fifty years. They were to be sentenced the next day for their involvement in a financial scandal. This was their last dinner together before going to prison, and they wanted to make it a memorable occasion.
The menu had been carefully planned.
Geoffrey ordered butter-roasted lobster bisque with prawn and tarragon stuffed tortellini and lightly-steamed rock samphire, his wine a Portuguese white.
Alan chose confit rabbit and pistachio ballotine, cider-braised carrots, sherry-pickled onions and toasted pumpernickel. He drank Italian rosé.
Angus went for slow-braised shoulder of wild Highland red deer and Scottish mushroom pie, celeriac puree and garden peas. His wine of choice was claret.
William ordered Welsh rarebit with cave-aged cheddar and Worcester sauce, and four-times-cooked chips. He drank pale ale.
They talked about the good old days and their successes, their wealth, their disdain for the lower classes, scroungers and the degeneration of society. They used strong words for manifesto-shredding, weasel politicians, and the whistle-blower. They pontificated and laughed, gorged their food and drank copious amounts.
After they finished their meals, two waiters cleared the table. One of the waiters handed Geoffrey a briefcase, then left the room. The four men heard the door lock clunk.
Geoffrey opened the briefcase and handed a revolver to each man. They nodded to each other but nothing more was said.
Geoffrey counted to three with his fingers and each man pressed their guns to their temples. Once more, Geoffrey counted to three.
On the third raised finger, four shots echoed around the room in unison.
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