James Harrington stood on the third floor balcony of his estate, swaying slightly with a half empty glass of whiskey clutched in his shaking hand.
His grand mansion, which had been the envy of a few businessmen and was regularly featured in the magazines that pandered to the rich and elite, now lay in shambles.
Everywhere, there was broken furniture, shattered vases, and paintings, some of them knocked from their places on the walls and others shredded on the floor.
Everything bore the marks of his rage.
The staff had long since fled, along with the security he had dismissed in his drunken fury. Now, all that was left was silence, save for the occasional howl of the wind.
He threw back another gulp of whiskey, the burn doing little to drown the acid in his gut. His empire, his legacy, gone. Just like that.
His family had spent generations building Harrington & Co. The company was a result of their sweat, ruthlessness and ambition.
