The Underdog Turned Kingpin

Chapter 29: The Weight of Lies

Mason padded toward his kitchen, a parade of "Morning, boss" and "Looking berter, Mr. King" following him down the marble hallway. Even the cleaning lady, Maria, dropped her duster to bow slightly. "Coffee's fresh, señor Rivers. Colombian, like you prefer."

The penthouse screamed money louder than a stool pigeon under pressure. Italian marble that cost more than most guys made in a year. Art worth killing for (and some of it actually had been). Floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of Chicago that'd make God jealous.

The coffee maker - some fancy German thing that probably cost more than his first car - hummed to life like it was greeting its master. "Good morning, Mr. King," the digital display actually read, programmed to kiss his ring just like everyone else.

As he waited for the imported coffee maker to work its magic, Mason caught his reflection in the chrome, Mason barely recognized himself. Gone was the wide-eyed kid who'd helped Sister Agnes plant flowers. These eyes belong