“You do understand what this means, Andrew.”
Andrew paced around his apartment in Millennium City. Everything he had learned here was for nothing. The reason he had come here was mostly to become a vigilante at home.
He remembered the attorney’s voice, as he explained that his sister had passed away from injuries sustained from a car wreck and pneumonia caught in the hospital. He had meant to go back home to see her, but he had just one more bad guy to catch, one more group of gang members to hunt down, just one more…
“You do understand what this means, Andrew,” came the voice of the attorney again. It meant playtime was over.
It meant he had to go back. It meant he had to take care of the family business – what was left of it – and use it to take advantage of the miners and the fracking to get the coal, the gas, the oil of his family.
He went over to his closet and pulled out the ninja outfit. What a silly, stupid idea it had been. He took out the throwing stars, the boomerangs, and the claws he fit over his hands. He packed them tightly in a bag.
He had a taxi take him to Chinatown, though he had walked through that part of Westside often dressed in his costume. Here, he was just a man, walking into the first dojo he saw, and handing his weapons to the man at the counter. “I quit,” was all Andrew said, and walked back out to the waiting car.
It didn’t take long to settle with the landlord. In the meantime, he tried to find Sonny, but, to be honest, he knew he didn’t try hard enough. Sonny wouldn’t be interested, probably wouldn’t care. Would probably wish him good luck and forget about him in a few days. So to spare himself the pain, he didn’t call him, instead deleting his number from his phone.
The attorney called him again. It seemed that the spouse was contesting the will, especially his prenup which said the family business was never his, no matter what happened to Marie. It was going to be a knock-down drag-out fight ahead. Sonny would be a distraction.
Andrew pulled his cuffs out of his coat and mounted the stairs to the private jet that would take him back into the hell hole he would call home.