The Pier, New York City
April 2, 2012
08:54 Hours

For the last hour Danel Lee had been attempting to solve the complicated legal puzzle box that is insuring the life of a superhero. His chief problem at the moment was distraction.  He would only get so deep into the legalese before the same thought would derail his train of thought: the New York Knights are back.

Part of him felt like a child on Christmas Eve, impatient to see what mysteries would be discovered upon the morning. Another part felt like that child's parents, inwardly nervous about what those mysteries might bring and knowing that there really isn't a Santa Claus - just hefty credit card bills and, if you were lucky, some zero-interest financing for six months.

"I checked him out after getting your message.  Daniel Lee's file is owned by the Pentagon.  My clearance level doesn't come close.  All I can tell you is the few brass that would talk to me about him tell me the same thing I hear from my defense industry friends: be careful dealing with Lee.  They say he's good to his word but not above arranging the pieces on the board as it suits him, and he's always ten moves ahead of where you think he is."

"One thing that I was able to find out ought to peak your interest, though.  Daniel Lee is the sole trustee of the New York Knights Perpetual Trust.  He's in charge of all their property and assets.  Everything, including the Pier, is his to administer."

Flying commercial wasn't the thrill it had once been. Leah remembered the thrill of excitement she always got at take-off when the jet finally raced forward, hurtling down the runway, inertia pushing her into her seat. And the moment when the rumble of tires across asphalt ceased and the whole airliner tilted for a steep ascent into the sky. There had been few thrills to match it. Now--it couldn't compare to flying under her own power, with the wind in her hair. It was never going to be the same.

Doug dropped the paper on the table and wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin. He took a sip of his water and sighed, pushing his plate away. Breakfast was by far the best meal of the day. Today he’d gone for something simple; chicken fried steak, two eggs over easy, crispy hash browns and an English muffin. Strawberry jam, of course. Water and juice to wash it down and, now that he was finished, a cup of coffee.

He waved at the server, a pretty young thing with coppery-red hair and a tattoo just visible on her décolletage. She looked over and, when he pointed to the empty coffee cup, smiled and nodded.