The Seattle rain quickly turns to snow as the brisk air of November's end comes in with the setting sun. A man, who once stood tall and proud, is barely standing now, with his head hanging low, outside the vacant that once was his livelihood. He shivers and looks up at the "For Sale" sign emblazoned on the glass double-doors he used to walk through at the start of every morning.
"Gone...It's all gone..." he croaks out, his voice hoarse and weak from all of the stress these past two months has brought him. He's worn out and quickly becoming an empty shell much like the building he once owned.
He begins to walk, pulling his dark-grey trench coat tighter around his elegant, black, Armani suit and positioning his matching brimmed hat down over his face so he is protected from the snow that has begun to fall. Even in times of hardship and distress, one must always dress his best to keep up appearances.
But why bother? He thinks to himself. He has just divorced the woman he once loved-the woman who betrayed his trust and his money. He's jobless, soon to be on the streets, from a company downfall that no one would have seen coming-especially not him. The events of the last few weeks have left him questioning why he has continued to wake each and every morning now that his reasons to live have evaporated.
His cell phone buzzes silently in his pocket. He pulls it out quickly.
"Do you have it?" he hisses into the phone, quickly stepping into an alley to get out of the winter wind. He smirks as he listens to the response on the other line.
"We'll meet in an hour." He pockets the phone and resumes walking. His steps are noticeably lighter from the relief his phone call had provided him, but there is still a dark tension looming in the tight wrinkles around his eyes.
You're a business man. This is just one more project where difficult means lead to great satisfaction in the end. He's laughing softly to himself, now, and with each step his laughter grows despite the stares he receives from the holiday shoppers bustling on the busy streets. His lips curl into a smile that never really reaches his deep brown eyes where the dull of sadness and depression is slowly being replaced with the glow of determination, passion, and fire.
You can take my business from me, you sonofabitch, but you cannot rip me from what I do best...
When someone screwed him in the business world, he always sought revenge through "mergers and acquisitions"-you take what's mine and I take what is yours. This type of revenge has always been a part of his routine. It is the last thing he has of his old life to cling onto. Revenge keeps him living. Without his business, he just has to resort to other methods; what else could he possibly lose?
He walks up to a municipal parking lot and opens the door to a 2011 Lincoln Navigator; the irony is not lost on him. As he steps into the drivers seat, he removes something from underneath his trench coat and deposits it safely underneath the passenger seat. He peers at the seat next to him and stares at the tabloid he purchased from a vendor on the street earlier in the day. The main headline: "Billionaire Baby?" and below is a candid paparazzi shot of the infamous Christian Grey and his pale-skinned, simple wife, Anastasia, hand-in-hand as they exit the hospital in Seattle.
"Well, Mr. Grey, I hope that bastard child of yours will learn a lesson from you and keep his goddamn mouth where it belongs" he scoffs and licks his lips before he turns the keys in the ignition and speeds out of the parking lot toward the suburbs.