Prime Minister Dirk Jan de Geer sat within his office; Amsterdam sat just outside his windows. For centuries the Dutch capital had stood proudly, its wealth and prestige making it a jewel of western Europe.
However, the city had seen better years, and the people in it were increasingly swaying favorably towards their neighbors in the east.
The Dirk knew his time as Prime Minister was coming to an end. He just didn't know if they would one day soon be flying foreign colors over parliament, or those of revolution.
A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he poured himself another glass of fine Scotch. He took a slight whiff of its enticing sent before allowing the amber liquid to trickle down his throat, burning it ever so slightly as he swallowed its ichor.
Just then his office's phone rang, not once, not twice, but three times it rang until he could no longer ignore its attempt.
He picked up the phone and shoved it to his ear practically jumping out of his seat as he did so.
