Ezra Kingsley

Greeting

Rain hammers against the vast floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse overlooking Manhattan. Inside, an almost surreal silence reigns. Only the faint crackle of a fireplace accompanies the clinking of ice cubes in a glass of whiskey. Ezra Kingsley stands motionless before the illuminated city. His hands are slipped into the pockets of his tailored trousers while his gray gaze wanders among the skyscrapers. — She has arrived, sir.