Scott Connors had always loved Chicago.

There was just something about the

buildings, the urbanization, and the busy way of life, that he always felt at peace
with. What he couldn’t stand were all the lower-class people cluttering up the streets.
Just the other day, he was walking out of a restaurant to his car when a homeless
man dared to ask him for money. Of course, he sped up, and when he reached his
Mercedes, had his secretary call the police to report unfavorable persons loitering.

His friends, or rather business partners, saw him as a rude, proud, and arrogant CEO.
He preferred the terms smart, charming, successful, and powerful. He went to college
at Harvard and had a Master’s in both Economics and Business Administration and
Management. He was never really handsome, but more striking, always wearing the
right suit and tie, with accompanying watch and shoes, for each specific occasion. He
was always well maintained, never looking unkempt. He started his own company,
which quickly rose to the top and became one of the leaders in the industry. The
fame that came with his success never really bothered him, and he appeared in many
Forbes or Time magazines.

Scott walked over to the window in his office, located on the penthouse of his 40
story building, and watched the sunset splayed out across the Chicago skyline. He
looked on at the cars passing back and forth below him, and the pedestrians walking
along the sidewalks and through the streets. It looked like nice weather outside, but
it was forecast that it was going to rain. Even now, he could see clouds starting to
build up in the distance, and was thankful he was inside tonight.

They had just landed a big account worth millions, and that would make their
company among the best in the world. To celebrate, he was hosting a business party
in his penthouse, inviting everyone that worked in the building. Those who couldn’t
attend simply had the day off. Almost no one was working today, and there were only
about a hundred people attending the party.

The party was only beginning, yet Scott had to get away. He loved being the center of
attention, but he just didn’t like people. That’s how he made his way into the office.
He placed his glass cup filled with some alcoholic beverage down on the table.
Staring out the window, he began to think of how he started his company in the first
place- along with one of the people he used to get along with. His old colleague
Robert Firth.

Scott had met Robert in college. They both came from similar backgrounds and had
the same goals of being successful in the future. Scott had business knowledge, while
Robert was great at designing and creating what people wanted. Together, they
decided to start a small on-campus business. It quickly took off, and they started to
become more and more successful. However, Robert started to want other things in
life and stopped devoting a hundred percent of his effort to the company. That was
why Scott had to take things into his own hands. Robert just didn’t have the
ruthlessness it took to stay big on the market. So one day, Scott broke into Robert’s
house. He stole his journals and ideas, his prototypes and designs. And with no proof
left showing that they weren’t Scott’s, Robert couldn’t do anything about it. They
went their separate ways, and Scott had the company to himself.

He had teams of engineers and designers create some of the ideas, and were able to
sell them to the public. But the more they produced, the fewer ideas were left. That’s
why this account that they landed was so important. It would be the last of Robert’s
designs, but the money from it would set them for life. Scott was going to take all the
money from the account and the company and put most of it in savings. The rest he
would place in the stock market. Then he would retire early and travel the world with
his private yachts and jets.

Just then, the door shut and the lock clicked into place, awakening Scott from his
trance. He turned around and came face to face with Robert Firth. Holding a gun. At
him. Then Robert spoke, “Hello Scott.”

Scott gulped. He wasn’t prepared to see Robert in the least bit. As he stepped back,
Robert came closer. “How did you get in here?” Scott asked. “It was easy,” Robert
replied, “almost all of your security has taken the day off, so the only thing I had to
do was act as if I was here for the party. Nice office, by the way.” Scott knew before he
asked, “What do you want?”. He could see the malicious glint in his eye. “Quite
simply, you. Dead.” Robert glared at him with all the wrath and hatred that had built
up over the years. "You stole everything I had, and don’t even try to deny it. At first, I
was distraught. I had nothing, all because of my best friend. Oh, how I hated you. I
plotted my revenge, waiting for the right moment. Thought of what I would do to you.
Then I decided, I would kill you. Shoot you in the head, make it look like a suicide.
You see this gun? There’s a nice little muffler on here, and with the music playing out
at the party, no-one will hear a thing.”

During this time, Scott remembered that he had a small knife, more of a dagger
really, hidden in one of the drawers along the wall. He slowly tried to move towards it
while Robert was speaking. All he needed to do now was distract him and get the gun
away. “Robert, can't we work this out? You can have my money. Take the whole
company if you want, it's yours. Please, Robert." Scott now had the drawer cracked
open behind him, the blade in his hand.

Robert looked at him and lowered the gun just a little. In that second, Scott dove to
the side and threw a chair at him. Robert fired the gun, missing by inches, as Scott
ran to hide in the bathroom. He leaned against the wall next to the door, knife ready
to attack. A few shots pierced holes into the wooden door, sending splinters of
mahogany flying.

The door slid open, with Robert and the gun entering soon after. The next few
seconds were a blur, as Scott jumped at Robert, and sliced his arm. Robert fired
away, and a bullet grazed Scott's side. They were rolling on the floor now, wrestling
for control. Flesh against flesh, metal across metal. Suddenly, a shot rang out.

And then there was silence.

One man stood up, checked himself for wounds, whilst the other lie dead sprawled
out on the ground. The body was moved, the weapon and area were cleaned up.
Chairs were replaced, fingerprints wiped off. The man washed away the blood that
was on him, thankful that there was much on his clothes. He looked back to make
sure everything was in its place and picked up a drink left on the table that now
wasn't very cold anymore.

Gulping it down, he left the office and went to enjoy the party.

THE END