Apex Comes Home

It was time. I flew private to Ohio. It was raining again. The symmetry was

poetic. I had a driver take me to the old headquarters. It was a brick building on the outskirts

of town, surrounded by a chain-link fence. It looked smaller than I remembered.

The "Sterling Logistics" sign was faded, the 'S' flickering with a dying neon buzz.

I checked my reflection in the car window. I was thirty pounds heavier than the kid who left—all

muscle and good food. I had a beard, trimmed to the millimeter. My suit was Italian,

charcoal grey. My watch cost more than the house I grew up in. "Wait here," I told

the driver. I walked past the security guard, who tried to stop me until I flashed