Jay Gatsby's mind raced as he rapidly sifted through the troubles he might have run into lately and the people he might have offended.
For the woman he loved, he had already let too many important business deals and major affairs slide for far too long.
He had even begun to suspect his partner, Meyer Wolfsheim—the mob boss who was capable of anything—might be about to cut him loose.
But when this group of highly professional, swift-moving men put him in a new luxury car he had never seen before and brought him to a secluded estate in East Egg, even the usually sharp Mr. Gatsby was completely at a loss.
He studied the sprawling estate. It wasn't ostentatious, but it had a clean, understated elegance. He desperately tried to remember which tycoon used an H-shaped emblem.
Even after entering the drawing room and seeing a very tall, handsome young man seated before him, he still couldn't figure it out.
"Sir, I don't believe we've met. I'm—"
"Jay Gatsby, born James Gatz. You came from a poor farming family in North Dakota, served as a lieutenant at a military training camp, then went to war, where you distinguished yourself. Because of a special program for decorated officers, you studied at Oxford for five months."
James walked over as he spoke. He sat down, lit a cigar, and continued.
"You're close to the mob boss Meyer Wolfsheim. Together, you illegally sold bootleg liquor through drugstores and secretly manipulated stocks, amassing a fortune in just a few years. You've thrown parties at your mansion for five years straight, all to attract—"
James left the rest unsaid. He paused and watched the man who had been confident and composed from head to toe turn utterly dumbfounded.
Gatsby's face flushed slightly. He took a