Philip Pearson stared at the city of London through his window. It was a breathtaking view, the city lit up, cars moving back and forth, their drivers errands unknown, but even at night, the city was alive. Busy with the business of the world. Until an hour ago, he too had been a part of that business. A shipment of barely in date drugs, mostly those not able to be sold to doctors, had been received by his men, then sold to the buyer, a small, slightly overweight man, the leader of a country Phillip had immediately forgotten the name of once the money had changed hands. He had returned to his apartment to a worried Henry. His assistant swiftly relayed the contents of the call that had just come in. One of his arms dealers, in fact his most prosperous dealer, had just been arrested. From what information could be obtained, the case was air-tight, the arrest made by the Feds, no room for anything to be done. His anger peeked out, a clench of his jaw, his eyes narrowing. Swiftly, he began issuing instructions to Henry, his own phone to his ear, calling his attorney to set a meet with the now disgraced dealer.
Henry, thankful to still be alive, began his work. A call to the service in LA set in motion Mr. Peterson's apartment in order. A full cleaning, to be done and ready for his arrival in two days. Next, the pilot of Mr. Peterson's plane, with instructions to be ready to take off by Friday morning explicitly clear.
Philip made one final call himself. A service he used, with excellent results in the past, was given the task to locate and provide him with as much information as possible on the people he would unleash his anger upon. The business of the world had no time for small minded people. And these...irritants, would regret the day they interfered with him.
Friday afternoon saw Philip Pearson even more angry than when he had first heard the news of his dealer's arrest. Having arrived at LAX that morning, he immediately was ushered to his car, Henry juggling two phones, his face paling. Patience at its end, Philip held his hand out, then snapped into the phone. "My apartment, one hour, bring everything you have." He hung up, motioning for his assistant to do the same. Blessed silence descended, the car making its way to the one place he could relax. Philip leaned forward, preparing two drinks, scotch and soda for him, a glass of red wine for Henry. He handed over the wine, then smiled at the quizzical look that met him. "No, ordinarily, we wouldn't be indulging this early, but I have a feeling this will be a long day. So, drink up Henry. Enjoy the peace, and prepare for the day ahead."
A stop first, a meeting with his now arrested arms dealer. He listened, not believe what he was hearing. As the man spoke, Philip began to grow angrier, a cold anger that filled him with ice. Millions, multiple millions in the future, all gone because this idiot was too weak to resist a pretty face. "This is our last time speaking. I'm sure they have offered you a deal, some way to lighten your sentence. Take it, and I will get to you. Don't take it, and you live. Your choice to make...choose wisely." With those words, he had left, exiting the small room, glad to be back outside. A genuine smile passed over his face, the first in days. No matter who these people were, and the dealer wouldn't or couldn't say, money made everything easier. He sighed, settling himself in the car. "Home please."
One safety in his apartment, he began his usual routine, waiting for the information he needed to arrive. A quick check of the markets, his investments secure and making him money. A walk outside, watching as The City of Angels went about its business. He marveled at the numerous cities he visited, all so different, and truly all the same. Money, commerce, everything came down to that simple basic fact. The little people would never understand that.
Henry cleared his throat. "Sir, they have arrived."
"Thank you. Show them to the downstairs office. I will be with them shortly." He stared at the city, the buildings, the cars on the freeway, backed up as usual. Somewhere, in all this mess of humanity, the person who had cost him, she was living, possibly enjoying her life. She would pay for her interference. Her, and whoever had helped...they would regret the decision to contend with Philip Pearson.