"A hundred million dollars? Nowhere near enough!"
Manhattan, the luxurious office on the top floor of Fisk Tower.
Wilson Fisk, the undisputed emperor of the underworld known as Kingpin, sat behind an enormous desk carved from a single block of African ebony.
He clenched a thick Cuban Cigar between his teeth and stared coldly at the trembling chief financial officer before him.
"Those old bastards on the council have enormous appetites. A hundred million dollars is barely a crumb to them."
Kingpin exhaled a thick cloud of cigar smoke. He loomed like a dormant mountain of flesh, his oppressive presence suffocating.
"Pour every cent of that settlement from Osborn into publicity for the mayoral campaign. I want my face-Wilson Fisk's face-on every billboard on every street corner in New York!"
"B-but, boss..." The chief financial officer wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, his voice shaking.
"Over the past two weeks, Spider-Man, Daredevil, and that lunatic with a skull on his chest have taken out all eight of our operations in Hell's Kitchen and Brooklyn. The group's cash flow has dried up. If we spend all this money on the election, the relocation payments and death benefits for our men..."
"Are you telling me how to do my job?" Kingpin's gaze turned cold, murderous intent blazing almost tangibly in his small eyes.
Thud!
The chief financial officer's legs gave out in terror. He dropped to his knees and frantically banged his forehead against the floor. "No, boss! That's not what I meant at all! I'll get on it right away!"
"Get out." Kingpin waved him away in disgust. "Tell the men that anyone who makes trouble over money at a time like this goes straight into the Hudson River to feed the fish."
The chief financial officer scrambled out of