The Sweet Edge by Risa Peris

Chapter 1
    Campbell flicked the cigarette ash into the night sky and watched as the white and gray embers twisted and turned in the cold wind. He was at the top of the skyscraper, which housed the corporate offices of Razor Edge Financial where he was a top broker. Razor Edge had exclusive use of the buildings highest open level. During the summers, the company hosted popular evening parties replete with musicians and bartenders. Campbell went to the last party of the season in the beginning of August. The air had been heavy with humidity but the drinks were cold and strong, the music loud, the food excellent, Manhattan glittering and the ice shavings from the ice carvers sprayed most of the guests with occasional cool gusts. Campbell had set on a divan under a light laden tree and sipped dirty martinis sullenly while his friends (business acquaintances really) laughed, talked about their cars and eyed women. Someone had invited models to the party. More than likely the CEO, Devin Roberts, had contracted with a modeling agency to lease a slew of women to attend the party. Devin liked beautiful women but, more importantly, he wanted the company to be the leader in swanky Manhattan parties and beautiful women were generally a requisite. The models were aware they were around wealthy men or potentially very successful men and were making the rounds with saucy looks and dollar hungry eyes. Models and wealthy men were as symbiotic as peanut butter and jam.
    Campbell had just ended the day. His team had traded millions and netted the company close to twenty-five million in one day. It was a good day. He was set to clear a three million dollar bonus at the end of the year even in the recession plagued economy. But he wasn't happy. He was standing smoking his Dunhills and blowing smoke circles into the winter sky. It was three weeks until Christmas and a cold snap had settled across New York. Staring at the gray sky he contemplated where to spend the holiday. Going home was out of the question. Campbell was from South Boston and his parents, despite the influx of money he had funneled their way over the years, preferred to continue living in the white and green clap trap in Dorchester that he had called home for eighteen years of his life. It was a miserable looking corner home with a concrete backyard and a pathetic looking side garden that his mother unsuccessfully tried to grow roses in. The roses never seemed to bloom and their newborn pink petals quickly turned brown, shriveled and littered the ground. One of his chores was sweeping the backyard and Campbell struggled to sweep up the brown mess. He secretly cursed roses or plants of any kind as he saw them as a job to be ticked off before he could collect his paltry allowance. He had no plants in his Park Avenue condo though he could definitely afford to have a florist deliver plants and flowers and tend to them on a weekly basis.
    Campbell grounded out the cigarette stub with his shoe. He shoved his hands in his coat and stared at the city. He considered Manhattan a beast. His Manhattan was not a carefree Manhattan. The city was hard and it took ingenuity, a strong work ethic, money and luck to survive it. When he arrived at twenty-five from Harvard Business School he was eager, driven and starry eyed. The infatuation with Manhattan quickly faded and all that was left was long days at the office, incessant construction sounds and the blur of sirens. But Manhattan was where you went to be the king of kings. It was simply not enough to be the King of Boston or the King of Cleveland. For true respect you had to be the King of New York. Devin Roberts was that King. He was worth one billion based on stocks alone and he was flown into the office each day by helicopter from Connecticut. He could have anything and he had the respect of everyone who met him. Campbell wanted that. Since he was a child he wanted Devin Roberts's life. He never asked himself why. It didn't seem unreasonable