THE END

Vladimir Rhostovsky switched out the light of his 12th floor office on Lexington Street and made his way toward the elevator. It was well past midnight. As the leader of AMD, one of the largest computer hardware manufacturers, he had had a lot on his mind lately. But now nothing else mattered anymore. Claire, darling, not much longer now. We will be united once again. The elevator door opened on the first floor and Rhostovsky made his way through the reception. No one. Strange! He did remember seeing Ralph that morning. Well, it didn't matter. Rhostovsky made his way to the entrance. He stepped out and stood on the pavement, stretching himself, feeling the cold midnight air. At a distance a long range rifle fired a single shot. Rhostovsky lay on the pavement, dead.

Abigail Knight stood still on the roof of her apartment. She had lost the man she had so dearly loved. The pain filled her body and mind. It was unbearable. The last 10 hours of her life had been more than happening. The markets were taking a fall as expected. There was nothing left to do but leave. She was the owner of the largest mutual fund organization in the country, the Knights Group. The death of the AMD supremo had caused quite a furore. AMD was a major market mover. And now it seemed as if the market had lost confidence in one of its pet companies. The last few hours were characterized by large scale off loading of AMD as well as Knights holdings in the market. The portfolio of one of her lesser known Growth Fund was under the hammer. The fund had invested an unprecedented 35% on AMD. Most analysts were skeptical of such an 'all-eggs-in-one-basket' move. But Knight had been at it all along. With all the aces up her sleeve, she had perfectly timed the gigantic offload of her AMD shares.

She strutted back inside and down the steps, still lost in thought. At the foot of the staircase, she reached for the light switch. The whole neighbourhood lit up in a huge fireball. The skies looked like they were in celebration; embracing the dancing flames. In the distance, an unregistered car made its way out of the city, with a satisfied driver.

THE BEGINNING

Vladimir Rhostovsky climbed out of his Buick with his trademark hat wave and the crowd erupted. Rhostovsky made for the dais. 'Today, we make history." was all he said. Every soul that attended the gathering would believe him. For Rhostovsky had brought about the turn around of the largest disaster of post Civil War America. 10 long years it had taken to build it again, to right every wrong, to pull the fallen giant back to its feet. And this was the zenith of it all. Here in this gathering were the people who had made it possible. The heart. And Rhostovsky knew the heart needed to be taken good care of. And so he did. And annual reports showed it all. Attrition down to 8%. YoY profits up 64%. Loans down by 76%. It was the story every CEO would wish for, but would never get. And Rhostovsky was happier than ever. To his success. Or so it seemed.

Nicholas Ferdinand, CFO and second in command, walked into his private study, smiling. As he sat himself down, the phone rang. "Hello". "Congratulations Nick. You did it!". "No. We did it." He laughed hysterically and put the receiver down gently. He was more than pleased with himself, for he had come a long way, walking alongside his boss in times of hope and despair. Now this had all gone far enough. It was time to make his move. After ten minutes, he finished the email and attached the file. The moment of truth! He picked up the receiver and made the first of a series of calls he would be making over the coming week.

The following week seemed rather uneventful for Rhostovsky; a board meeting after lunch, a team gathering after tea; that was it more or less. Then it came. The following Saturday, the Washington Post took out a quarter page article on the allegation against AMD. The claim was that AMD had been fabricating its progress reports for over five years in a row, and getting away with it. Alongside were the purported actual figures for all of them. Rhostovsky took light of the allegation. No one is going to believe that! To think any organization would be so outrageous as to publish fake progress reports for five years! Outrageous! But as the week passed, Rhostovsky had more and more on his hands. The news caught on like wildfire. Every major news channel was now talking about it. He was suddenly attending 3 press conferences in a day, trying to convince the nation that it was all a hoax.

Abigail Knight was ecstatic. Their plan had worked out perfectly for them. The Knights Group was on the track to fast growth with more than 30% of the investors holding at least a thousand units of her Knight Growth Fund. It had been a tedious five years of manipulation that had resulted in high investments in her group. She had been prepared to go to any extent to build this and was prepared to go to any extent to keep it that way. On the D-Day, she had called her accomplice to congratulate him. "Congratulations Nick. You did it!". "No. We did it." he had said. She was on seventh heaven. She imagined herself and Nick on the patio of the large bungalow they had hand picked for themselves. It was just perfect.

THE BETRAYAL

Unable to stand any more accusations, Rhostovsky dug into the reports the had published in the last eight years from the database. He pored over the results for four hours. All in order. Not knowing where to look next, he walked down to Nick's office and let himself in. Nick was nowhere to be seen. But Rhostovsky had nowhere else to go. He sat himself behind Nick's desk and looked around. His mind was numb from the strain and he wasn't particularly interested in anything. His eyes fell on the computer screen in front. An email alert popped up on the right bottom of the screen. The subject read "Thank You". He casually clicked the email, not really expecting anything. The email read:

Mr Ferdinand,

It was a pleasure doing business with you. Be sure that your favour will be returned in kind, my love.

Regards,

Abigail Knight
Executive Director
Knights Group of Companies

Abigail! He scrolled down the mail chain. It continued with that one subject, Thank You. Curious about what Nick was doing new for AMD, he moved over to the Sent folder. He opened the first attachment. It was financial report of a company for that year. Wait a minute! Not 'a' company! That was the financial report of AMD! Rhostovsky's brain could not quite comprehend what was in front of him. Slowly and painfully then, it dawned on him, with brute force. His body went numb. He felt sick in his stomach and a lump formed in his throat. He had no need to see any more attachments, for he had understood the magnitude of it all. Nick! You traitor!

In front of him was the original annual report of AMD Incorporated showing losses to the order of a 130 million for the year 2006-2007. All major holdings were in mortgage and the company was in heavy debt. The fake reports had been marketed by the Knights to further their own interest. Rhostovsky knew they had invested in his company rather lavishly, causing the AMD share value to rise higher and higher. Now all that he had built was going to fall. And there was no stopping it. Anger rose in his chest until he found it hard to breathe. Amidst labored gulps of air he heaved himself up and out of the room toward his own.

Rhostovsky lay on the couch spread-eagled. The scale of betrayal had hit him with full force. He was at the very top, very alone. His second in command had betrayed him ruthlessly and there was no telling how many more were with him. Nick had managed to keep from him, the actual records and performance of his company for more than five years. Anybody in his right mind would have spotted it years ago. He felt foolish and naive; having fallen for some old trick like a stupid country bum. He had put all trust in Nick to practically run things for him, for his own life hadn't been a bed of roses. His dear wife, Claire, had had three abortions in the last two years, and remained terminally sick. Doctors seemed to think her body had taken the toll of the alcohol and smoke she had had. He had done what he had to do. And then finally, she gave way to inevitability. Rhostovsky had put himself together again for the sake of the empire he had built. Then he met Abigail, and fell for love once more. But little did he know. He hated his self with shame. He wanted, more than anything, to destroy Nick and everything that was dear to him. He was going to make them pay. He wanted nothing more than to be with his wife, to be re-united, to kill, to die.

Rhostovsky rose, now, with strange determination and went to his computer. He looked up his contacts and shortly found what he was looking for. He made a call he never thought he could make. "Hello"."I have a contract to propose. I can pay well. You have two targets to kill ..."

THE KILLING

Rhostovsky made his way to Nicholas Ferdinand's room with the .45 Colt he always carried with himself. The name Nicholas suddenly seemed distant and unfamiliar. At the door to the room, he could hear the man speaking lovingly to Gail. He stepped in. Nicholas Ferdinand not bothering to look up, kept to his conversation. Rhostovsky went around the desk and stood beside Nick. Rhostovsky pulled out his gun from the trouser just as Nicholas hung up. Nick looked up and a look of utter shock spread across his face. Rhostovsky jammed the revolver to Nick's forehead and pulled the trigger. Once, twice, thrice ... . Rhostovsky strained against the desk, shivering with rage. He looked for a long moment at the lifeless body now sitting on the chair, then turned and walked out of the room to his own. It was time to leave.

Sylvio's was puzzled but the instructions were clear. This rather strange request had come from the man himself and he promised to pay, and pay well. Nevertheless a mark was a mark and he had his job to do. Sylvio, the hitman, got into his car and made for the address he had written down from the call. The house was empty. He broke in and felt his way around. Standing in the middle of the hall he looked for a suitable place to fix the bomb. He walked down the hallway and his eyes fell on the switch at the base of the staircase. This is it. She has to use this one time or another. After another ten minutes he left the house with the bomb securely in place. It was only a matter of time now.

Sylvio made for his next destination. He still couldn't digest it, what with all his kills. To the task at hand now he said to himself. He reached his destination and looked around for a good location. Not long after, he was seated on the roof of a low building on the opposite side. Sylvio picked up his rifle, aimed it at the entrance and waited. At the appointed hour the man came out and reached out to the sides as if to stretch himself.

Sylvio fired.