The epitome of success, Ambrosius Sidorov had it all.
Money, though didn't need it.
Power, though it bored him.
A lavish penthouse in downtown Chicago.
And the most powerful Throne.
That is, up until the fateful night when his siblings were murdered...
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Mexico City, Mexico
The torrential downpour seemed relentless. The avenues had been cleared and all major roads and highways had been blocked in anticipation of Ambrosius’ arrival. Standard Administration protocol.
Three black Cadillacs had picked up Ambrosius at the tarmac. He was separated from his crew since his father’s chauffeur was driving him. Nathan and James were in front of him and the bodyguards were in the rear SUV. Rickard had no problem navigating the confusing streets of the Mexican Capital. The city itself appeared more modern to Ambrosius than the last time he had visited. Skyscrapers were much taller and the roads had become wider. The airport seemed to have expanded.
He couldn’t help but wonder what his father had in store for this country; however sinister that plot might be.
Ambrosius contemplated the text message Elena had sent him one more time before erasing it. It was futile to think his father had not become aware of everything Ambrosius had done up until this point. He starred outside, watching the rain drops race each other into oblivious fates. The skyscrapers became more modern as they approached the city center.
His eyes fell on the newest tower on the block.
Sidorov Industries
His father’s ghost company. Though currently the most valuable in the world. Ambrosius felt uneasy at the sight of it. The tower sported sharp curves and edges and must have been at least 2,000 feet tall at a simple glance.
Impressive, but daunting.
Rickard opened the door for the master and held an umbrella for him. Ambrosius rejected it, letting his trench coat absorb the rain. He bolted towards the front lobby, which seemed like it had been imported from another world with its sinister architecture, high ceilings and lack of light. The knot in Ambrosius’ stomach became tighter and made him sick.
The elevator was made of glass and provided a view of the city which under normal circumstances Ambrosius would have chosen to enjoy. Not this time. He could be walking right into a trap for all he knew. It might as well be his murder.
No one would care. No one would miss him. All the money in the world was worthless if nobody knew who you were. Ambrosius felt dread as the gentle beep indicated he had arrived.
Floor 180
The doors opened without so much as making a hiss. The ceiling was at least 30 feet tall and the glass roof revealed all the stars in the night sky. It would seem to be an implicit fact that the tower pierced through the pollution cloud layer of the city.
