Devils in Tuxedos

A very special party was being thrown in honor of the new, 17 million dollar facility built recently by Atticus Harper's company. The building, of course, was built on the foundation of some working class apartment. It had taken them months and several strings not-exactly-legally pulled by their lawyers to get those poor, working class slobs to give up their precious roach-infested, poorly air-conditioned one-bedroom apartments, all of which had been torn down and replaced by an enormous building in which the light fixtures cost about as much as a years' worth of rent.

Atticus Harper wanted to make the city shine. There would be no more beggars on the street. No more working class apartments. No more common people. Instead, everyone would be sophisticated. Atticus would spare some, of course. If they could not afford maids, they would become maids. It was a privilege, Atticus thought, to be the maid of some sophisticated business man such as himself. (Of course this was only if the person met Atticus's criteria, but he did not talk about that whilst flashing that politician's grin of his, promising "new job opportunities"). He thought this to be out of the very goodness of his heart, but everyone who knows Atticus Harper knows that there is no such goodness and no such heart.

A man by the name of Sawyer Lee Harris waltzed into the vast expanse of Atticus Harper's extravagant penthouse, his wife Marilyn standing closely by his side. The two were dressed elegantly—Sawyer in a suit that cost him more than some commoner's college tuition, and Marilyn in an ornate, navy blue gown accented with diamonds around her neck and a 24 karat band around her ring finger, which matched the equally lavish ring Sawyer wore on his. The pair certainly fit black-tie billionaire archetype.

Atticus greeted the couple with a fetching, bleach-white smile.

"Harris! So nice to see you again," Atticus said with false sincerity. It was certainly not nice for Atticus to see Sawyer again. In fact, he had only invited him for the sake of his image. Sawyer responded with equally phony enthusiasm.

Sawyer Lee Harris had been Atticus Harper's business partner back in the day when Harper and Company had a mere 12 buildings scattered across the 50 states. Back in the day when Sawyer lied to Atticus about profits, keeping millions to himself. Not that millions were much to Atticus Harper. And it was certainly not as if he'd been oblivious of Sawyer's dishonestly. Atticus was nobody's fool. He was aware of the fact that nearly everyone he worked with would try to cheat him in some way, and therefore Atticus Harper was always several steps ahead. Everyone he'd worked with had cheated, stolen, or been dishonest with him. Even if it was not directly stealing, all of the guests attending his party had cheated him, were cheating him, or were bound to cheat him in the future. But that stood no comparison to the havoc he'd wreak on their own companies and bank accounts. Atticus saw it only fir to ruin the lives of those who tried to ruin his own life. At least, that's how his tyranny began. Now, more often than not, he was motivated to do so for no other reasons than greed, and for the thrill it gave him. (Of course, he'd keep his "business partners" around long enough for them to be his pawns. Atticus would never ruin the life of someone useful to him, at least, not until they were no longer of use.)

After the two had greeted each other with handshakes and false enthusiasm, Sawyer Lee Harris and his wife drifted over in the direction of Eito Kobayashi, an extremely successful business man from Japan. Atticus liked to branch out. For his business to truly flourish he needed to have connections everywhere. Along with Kobayashi, he'd invited several other businessmen and women from all around the world. Of all the horrible things Atticus was, he was not a racist. The only color Atticus Harper cared about was green, and everyone attending his party certainly had green.

Atticus, being clever as he was, recognized that Harris was approaching Kobayashi likely in hopes of making some sort of deal. A business deal Atticus himself had been intending to make. He couldn't have that. That was the dangerous thing about these sorts of parties. Those Atticus invited were cunning and clever and would do anything to get their hands on another million.

The greed of his party guests in mind, Atticus called over a "friend".

"Take care of him," Atticus said, speaking in a low, whispery manner. He gestured towards Sawyer ever-so-slightly, so that it was almost unnoticeable. The man nodded, stone faced.

"Yes sir," He replied.

Atticus wasn't a big fan of dirty work. He liked to keep things civil, unlike the barbarians scampering around on the grimy Chicago streets below. They were nothing to Atticus. Not even pawns like the upper-middle class. They held about as much work to him as pigeons. Commoners and pigeons were very similar, in Atticus's opinion. Wandering around this concrete jungle, aimless and stupid. Pecking at leftover pizza boxes and other things that would get them nowhere. They were pests, really. Dirty pests that stained the city.

A waiter offered Atticus a drink of his favorite wine. He was an example of an upper-middle class citizen Atticus could use as a pawn.

"Thank you, Buckley," Atticus said. His voice was monotone and insincere, but it was important to be polite. To act civilized.

"Of c-course, sir," the waiter stuttered. Atticus scowled in annoyance, but smiled at the waiter's fear of him. It reminded Atticus that he was in power. That he was above such scum that didn't quite make up the one percent.

Buckley stood there stiffly for a bit, in case Atticus wanted another sip of wine.

"Well, don't just stand there, Bernie," Atticus hissed through clenched teeth. Buckley nodded and stumbled off into the dining area. Atticus had been wanting to fire Buckley. He could afford to do so, of course. Buckley was merely an intern, paid with "valuable job experience". He was disposable, but unfortunately not as disposable as the rest of Atticus' interns. Buckley was the son of William Johnston, a man Atticus was currently working with. If he fired Buckley now, he would not be able to gain as much profit as he desired. The young waiter was an embarrassment, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made. Besides, Atticus' image as a sophisticated business man would soon be restored.

Aside from Buckley's awkwardness, which Atticus saw as crude and wholly inappropriate for a waiter, (especially a waiter working for a sophisticated man such as himself), the party was going by swimmingly. Atticus floated around his penthouse, making casual conversation about stocks and possible building locations. There was no official dinner, but waiters wandered about, trays of small, decorative appetizers in hand.

Atticus was boasting the successes of his company to a German business woman when the police pounded on his door.

"Police, open up!" someone shouted from outside. Atticus didn't hear this, of course. Not past the murmurs of conversation and the clinking of silverware.

"We fired them, of course," Atticus said. His tale was interrupted by a commotion. In the front room, 6 or 7 police men were scanning the crowd.

"We're looking for Atticus Harper," they were saying. "Is Atticus Harper here?"

The German woman eyed Atticus with curiosity. Atticus sat up, setting his glass of red wine on a glass coffee table.

"Atticus Harper, you're under arrest for mass marketing fraud, high yield investment fraud, tax evasion, and insurance fraud," The cop said. Atticus stood, putting his hands behind his back, giving no resistance.

"I want to see my lawyer," he said flatly. He was surprisingly calm for a man in his situation. But Atticus Harper was always one step ahead.