Poul Nielsen stepped off the ferry and onto the wooden planks of the Desbrosses Street ferry station. The salty, briny air of the harbor filled his lungs, as he looked around, taking in his surroundings.
The sun had just begun to set, casting a warm, golden glow over the bustling streets of Lower Manhattan. The sounds of horse-drawn carriages and the clanging of metal filled the air, as workers hurried to load and unload cargo from the nearby piers.
He scanned the bustling crowds, searching for Sam Insull, Russel's secretary. He spotted him across the street, waving his arm in the air. Poul smiled and quickened his pace, approaching him.
"Good day, Sir Nielsen. How was your journey to New York?" Sam inquired, his voice polite, though tinged with a hint of curiosity.
Poul's smile was wry as he replied, "It was much the same, though the sensation of traveling to New York alone felt quite different."
