CHAPTER 1: FISK

"Wesley, bring me the Manhattan plans would you?"

The man who spoke was tall, at least 6 foot 5. He was large in other ways too, what had once been mere fat, (which he was teased about as a boy), was now pure muscle.

His assistant, Wesley, however, was almost the exact opposite. A short, thin man, who could barely reach his boss' elbows.

"Here you are, sir," the smaller man said, "the developer informs me that the building should be operational within the month."

The larger man turned to face his loyal employee.

"Ah, Wesley, you never fail me, do you? It will be such a relief to finally get out of Florida, and get back home to my beloved New York City. It has been ever so long since I have seen that beautiful place."

Wesley had never seen Wilson so happy. Sure, he understood what New York meant to him, but he had never expressed it in this way before.

"I may be over 1,000 miles away, but I can almost smell the city air," he uttered, "now Wesley, if you wouldn't mind, I have some private calls to make."

"I understand sir. If you need me, I will be in my office down the hall."

Wilson watched as the man he considered his greatest friend left the room, quietly closing the door, as he so often did. Once he was sure he was gone, Wilson pulled out his phone and dialled a number that he had memorised over time. It rang only a couple of times before the person on the other end answered.

"It is almost time, my love," he said in a soft voice, "I will be with you soon enough."