The woman’s eyes are steely, but not harsh, like an off-hours politician pleading with the spouse. It’s an interesting combination. She’s taller and younger than Martha. Height can be a useful commodity in elite circles. It implies power without perspicacity—a Neanderthal nod to the hierarchy of sheer size—as if the big dog really is the big dog, and God help the primate who reaches for a leash. The white suit is an interesting choice; it’s spectacular and svelte, but not a traditional power suit at all. Nobody wears white in board rooms or chambers—those bastards all have blood on their hands, and they know better. Nor does it favor the ecclesiastic; Versace resembles vestments like a wedding dress resembles a chastity belt, and everybody knows a Mattson meet and greet isn’t exactly matrimony and mazeltov. No, white like that betrays more than power—it wreaks of something more sinister.