It began three years ago, before Malcolm acquired billionaire status. Back when he was just a young buck working a muck of a job answering telephones for that small start-up in The City—the heart of The City, of course being Eriksdale. North Eriksdale, to be specific. The half of Eriksdale a spot chiller than the lower part, obviously being the south.

His job was nothing better than drab—a call taker at a call center answering and sending out phone calls to folks to promote drabish things. As for his personal life, it was mundane. He was a single fellow with no desire to get out of his minuscule apartment to find himself a single lass to go about doing whatever it was couples did in North Eriksdale. From what most realized was that in North Eriksdale, dates were limited to either alcoholic beverages at The Handsome Laddie, Johnson’s, or The Ever Yellow Spring, or to watch a movie rented from Ernie’s On the Corner and snuggle up under a blanket and finagle one another until whoever’s heart was content. Maybe there was even snacks involved—who knows? Wouldn’t that be nice…snacks are fantastic pairing to finagling.

Ring, the telephone went. Or, more so chimed obnoxiously until Malcolm thought quite understandably that launching himself from the open window was a preferable thought in comparison to listening to the telephone ring once more.

“Hello,” Malcolm droned, wildly uninterested. In fact, painfully discontent.

What the voice on the other end said matters not, because Malcolm never really listened to begin with.