Nathan Jeremiah's Story

The study in the old Jeremiah manor was dimly lit and cold as Nathan worked at the mahogany table that sat in the middle of the old and well lavished room. Everything the simple man could ask for was in this room alone and yet he was not able to appreciate it in the least bit. The last few days had been brutal and anyone who knew the young businessman well enough could tell that much just from the empty whiskey bottles sitting about among the silver trays that held the food he asked to be brought to him every day as he had refused to leave the room in days. Papers were strewn across the desk and floor with more than a handful of them having been ripping in half by hand or just chucked out the window when they carried less than favorable news. The remains of an ancient vase still sat in the corner after one long and drink laden night that the maid had been afraid to come in and clean up ever since.

While he was being hard on himself, it was more than justified. A handful of the family's old friends and business partners had fallen off the face of the earth recently or worse yet found new companionship with rival companies. Workers were defecting left and right as if some of them knew of the mounting troubles their jobs were going to start going through and with the fortune Nathan had, some two faced bastard really did tell them just that. Even when he looked on the shadier but more profitable side of his trade corporation's dealings, the news wasn't any better. Several expensive and highly sensitive pieces of cargo had the misfortune of falling into the hands of lawmen that ended up scrapping every cent they could from the dockworkers to convince them to keep their silence. Boats and carriages alike had been ransacked by unknown forces, leaving neither package nor person unharmed from the encounter. Not even the small gambling ring that had kept the family afloat during hard times had been slowly shut down or sabotaged over the last week alone. Things were looking quite grim for White Condor Trade Co.

A quiet but fast knock on the door snapped Nathan out of his half sober haze as his head snapped up, eyes drooping from many a sleepless night trying to keep the business stable. "Come in," he said before looking down at his work again. It was Mr. Welton, a wiry old man whom his father held in high regard if you could look past his delirious paranoia. It wasn't nearly enough of a problem to stop his father from naming him his son's godfather. Nathan spared the shortest of glances to recognize the man before looking back down and asking, "To what do I owe this pleasure?" in a rather dry tone. While the appearance of the old businessman would normally been good company and somewhat of a godsend, his dull wits and short temper made even the closest companion just another factor to juggle in with work. The old man checked over his shoulder, doing a double take just to be sure they were alone before stepping towards the desk and stating, "News down the grapevine says things have been rough for you, kid. You holding up alright?" Nathan simple shook his head as he went through the pile of papers next to him, only half listening to the man. "Shriveling assets and a bit of bad luck. It's just a dry spell. It'll be over in a month," he said with the weakest of positive tones he could muster.

The old man shook his head as he folded his spindly fingers in front of him and looked down at his young godson. "It's not the business I worry about. It's you. Your father wouldn't want you wallowing-" Mr. Welton was cut short by the sound of a heavy fist being slammed against the counter top. "I am not wallowing!" Nathan shouted at the man, a half mad look in his eye as he tore away from his work and stared poisonously at his old friend. Mr. Welton jumped ever so slightly as he began to slowly back away towards the door. As he reached the door, Nathan half slumped onto the desk, his little out burst taking up what little energy he had left. Mr. Welton looked the young man over with a look of concern in his eye as he said, "You've obviously had a long day. Get some rest, son. You're no good to no one if you're walking around half dead. Especially yourself." As the door quietly closed shut, all Nathan could muster up was a quiet, "Thanks..." before the dark came over him and he fell asleep.