John's days were now shaping up to be exactly the vacation he had envisioned.
Two companies to visit, and a different sightseeing route through New York every day.
Queens.
John held a croissant he had bought in Brooklyn.
He ate his bread, a cup of milk in his other hand.
He looked like a young aristocrat enjoying afternoon tea on a Paris street.
Hammer Industries was in Queens, and its executives could not understand John's devotion to enjoying himself.
Yuri Orlov, who was only a few late nights away from going bald, approached with at least five bodyguards at his side.
Professional security personnel also lingered nearby, disguised as passersby.
Orlov traveled with more than a dozen people whenever he went out.
They were loyal men willing to die for him, and he spent a fortune every year maintaining them.
That fortune covered more than salaries. He took care of every aspect of his bodyguards' lives, from housing and families to their children's schooling and their parents' medical insurance.
Only by taking care of everything could he get people to work for him without reservation.
Having hunted for blood diamonds in Africa and had warlords press guns against his forehead, he understood that everyone in this world was equal, because everyone only had one life.
"You gave away a hundred and twenty million in gold without a word." Orlov stopped beside John. He instinctively took out a cigarette, then glanced at John and put it away again. "You spend money even more freely than your father," he grumbled.
John popped the last bite of croissant into his mouth and took a sip of milk. "It was a windfall, Orlov," he said calmly.
"That was gold," Orlov said, pained. "I'd rather have given you a hundred and twenty million dollars."
How