Scene 1: The Dark Office

  Time: 8:00 PM. An abandoned warehouse in Queens.

  The room was pitch black, cold, and damp. There was no electricity. The only light came from a single beeswax candle flickering on a rotting wooden table.

  Don Antonio sat there, a shadow wrapped in darkness. He was an ancient Sicilian man, his skin as wrinkled and dark as oak bark, with a hooked nose that resembled a crow's beak. On the table, he was using a plastic spoon (a disposable one that had been washed and reused multiple times) to eat a can of tuna. The can had expired two weeks ago; he had bought it from a clearance bin.

  Mr. Finch, the miserable lawyer, stood trembling in the shadows, sweating profusely despite the cold.

  "Finch..." Antonio’s voice rasped, sounding like gravel grinding together. "You say... that boy Solomon bought the old bank?"

  "Yes... Don," Finch stammered. "He won the auction. The closing price was $6.1 million."

  SLAM! Antonio smashed the plastic spoon onto the table. He wasn't angry about losing the building. He was angry about the money.

  "Stupid! Wasteful!" Antonio hissed, his eyes bulging. "That building is full of tax liens and asbestos! If he knew how to negotiate, he could have had it for $4 million! He threw $2.1 million out the window! My heart hurts... I feel physical pain for his wallet!"

  He clutched his chest, wheezing from the stress of seeing someone else spend money.

  "But Don..." Finch whispered. "He is expanding fast. Should we... attack?"

  Antonio paused. He scraped the very last flake of tuna from the can, licked the plastic spoon clean, and carefully placed it in his pocket.

  "No," Antonio chuckled, a wet, rattling sound. "Bullets are expensive, Finch. A 9mm round costs 50 cents. Killing him now is a bad investment." He stared into the candle flame. "He is cleaning up Valenti's mess. He is fixing the dockyard, building systems. He is a hardworking pig. Let the pig fatten himself up. Let him fatten the farm. When he is heavy enough... I will slaughter him. Then, I get the meat and the farm without spending a single penny."

  Scene 2: Sugar Withdrawal

  Time: 9:00 AM. The Exchange HQ.

  In the main lobby, Raphaela was draped over a leather sofa, looking pale and twitchy. She was going through severe "Sugar Withdrawal" due to Solomon’s donut ban.

  She looked up as Benny walked by. In her hallucinating eyes, Benny’s bald head transformed into a Giant Glazed Donut.

  "Benny..." Raphaela wheezed, drool forming at the corner of her mouth. "Come here... let me take a bite... your head looks so sweet..."

  Benny backed away, covering his head in terror. "Boss! Help! Raphaela is trying to eat me! Does company medical insurance cover cannibalism?!"

  Solomon stepped out of the elevator, adjusting his cufflinks. He ignored Raphaela’s junkie-like behavior. "Focus. Today we are conducting a Field Audit at Dockyard #4. Valenti left a mess there. Inventory shrinkage is at 15% per month. It is inefficient."

  Luciela stepped forward, holding a clipboard. "I will accompany you, Master. Raphaela should stay here and detox. She looks like a zombie."

  Hearing the word "work," Raphaela sprang up like a coiled spring. Her eyes flashed with a manic, violent light. "No! I'm going! I need to break something! I need violence to forget hunger! Let me go or I will bite Benny right here!"

  Solomon looked at Raphaela. An assassin deprived of sugar was a ticking time bomb. But sometimes, a bomb is useful. "Fine. Let's go. But do not bite the employees."

  Scene 3: The Arrogant Foreman

  Time: 10:00 AM. Dockyard #4.

  The old dock was a mess, smelling of spilled oil and salt water. Shipping containers were stacked haphazardly. Workers moved sluggishly, groups of them standing around smoking and playing cards on top of the crates.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Big Mike, the foreman, was a massive, pot-bellied man with his gut spilling over his belt. He was chewing on a cheap cigar, blowing thick clouds of smoke.

  When Solomon’s convoy stopped, Big Mike smirked, not bothering to put out his cigar. "Oh, the new boss?" He tilted his chin up. "You look like a college kid. Listen, pretty boy, this is the docks, not Wall Street. The wind is strong here, things tend to 'fly away'. Don't bring your calculator here."

  Solomon stepped out, walking a circle around the containers. He said nothing, just taking notes. Then he walked back and stood in front of Big Mike.

  "Container 402: Missing 3 crates of Cognac. Container 505: Seals broken. Total shrinkage this month: $45,000." Solomon looked Big Mike in the eye. "How do you explain this deficit?"

  Big Mike laughed loudly, blowing smoke directly into Solomon’s face. "It happens, Boss. That's the 'handling fee' for the boys. Valenti used to turn a blind eye. If you make a fuss, the boys will go on strike. Then the ships don't unload, the cargo rots, and you lose even more money."

  Scene 4: The Physical Audit

  Solomon took out a handkerchief and wiped the smoke from his face. He adjusted his glasses. "A strike? An interesting concept."

  He turned to Raphaela, whose leg was bouncing uncontrollably from sugar cravings. "Raphaela. He says his hands are critical for loading cargo. Audit their durability."

  Raphaela had been waiting for this. "AAAAAAA!" She screamed, launching herself at Big Mike like a rabid animal. SNAP! She grabbed Big Mike’s fat index finger (the one pointing at Solomon) and bent it backward 180 degrees.

  "AGHHHHH!" Big Mike screamed.

  CRACK. Raphaela didn't stop. She delivered a crushing low kick to his knee joint. The bone shattered audibly. The 250lb man collapsed like a sack of potatoes.

  "TOO LOUD!" Raphaela shrieked, slamming his head onto the concrete. "I have a headache because I have no sugar! Why are you screaming?!"

  As Big Mike tried to scream again, a cold blade pressed against his throat. Luciela leaned down, whispering into his ear. "Shhh. Silence. Master has not authorized you to scream."

  Scene 5: The Collateral Leverage

  Solomon stepped forward. He looked down at Big Mike, who was writhing in agony, snot and tears running down his face.

  "You threatened a strike?" Solomon said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Very well. But before you do, let us discuss your 'Collateral Assets'."

  Solomon pulled out his phone, reading from a report. "Your wife, Sarah, works as a cashier at 'Sweet Dreams Bakery' on 5th Street. Her shift is 8:00 AM to 5:00 PM. She usually takes the number 12 bus home."

  The color drained from Big Mike’s face. The pain in his finger vanished, replaced by pure terror. "How... how do you know?"

  Solomon continued reading, emotionless. "And your daughter, Emily, is in the 3rd Grade at St. Mary’s Elementary. School ends at 4:30 PM. She is wearing a blue dress today."

  Solomon put the phone away. He looked deep into Big Mike’s eyes. "Mr. Mike. Do you want your family to receive your 'Disability Check'... or would you prefer they read an 'Obituary' in tomorrow's paper?"

  Big Mike broke. He realized the man standing before him was not a businessman. He was a monster who had audited his entire life before stepping out of the car.

  "I'm sorry!" Big Mike sobbed, slamming his head on the pavement. "I was wrong! I'll work! Don't touch them! Please!"

  Solomon nodded. "Good. The $45,000 you stole last month will be deducted from your salary over the next 5 years. I am charging black market interest rates. You are still the Foreman, but you are now an Indentured Foreman. One more mistake... and Sarah loses a husband."

  Scene 6: The Example

  The 20 other workers watched their boss get his limbs broken and his soul crushed. No one dared to mention a strike. Their iron pipes clattered to the ground.

  Gara stepped forward, holding a box of handheld Barcode Scanners. "Alright gentlemen," Gara clapped his hands. "Welcome to the 21st Century. Line up and take a scanner. Be gentle, these cost more than your lives. You break it, I dock your pay. Also, I am deducting a $50 'Equipment Deposit Fee' from everyone's paycheck this week. Non-refundable. Form a line!"

  The workers lined up obediently, heads bowed, accepting the scanners like sentences. Within 15 minutes, the steady Beep... Beep... of scanning filled the air. The cranes began to move with rhythmic precision.

  Solomon stood on a shipping container, watching the operation. "Efficiency up 40%," he muttered. "Fear is the best growth metric."

  Scene 7: The Spy in the Shadows

  In a dark corner of the dockyard, a beggar in rags sat fishing. He watched everything, then pulled a cracked brick phone from his boot.

  He dialed a number.

  "Don Antonio..." the spy whispered. "Solomon isn't just taking the dock. He is 'restructuring' it. He breaks limbs but keeps them alive to work. Projected profits will double."

  Back in the dark room in Queens. Don Antonio was counting the beans in his can of food. He paused. His yellow eyes gleamed in the darkness.

  "Double the profits?" Antonio laughed, a sound like sewage bubbling. "Interesting... Very interesting."

  He reached out and pinched the candle flame, extinguishing it to save wax. "Fatten the pig, Solomon. Fatten the dockyard. When the pig is heavy enough... I will come for the meat and the barn. Thank you for working for free."

  Darkness swallowed the miser's greedy smile.

  End of Chapter 46.