Tag Archives: David Isenberg

The neon sign outside the basement bar buzzed with a low, dying hum, cutting through the heavy Chicago rain. Inside, the air smelled of stale scotch, cheap cigars, and wet wool.
At a corner booth, secluded behind a curtain of thick tobacco smoke, three men sat around a low wooden table.
On one side sat Vance—hard-jawed, leather-jacketed, with eyes that had seen too many dusty tracks in Africa and forgotten landing strips in the jungle. Beside him was Isenberg, a thin, sharp-eyed man wearing a rumpled tweed coat, a leather notebook open in front of him, pencil hovering like a scalpel.
Across from them sat Vane. tailored suit, pristine cuffs, eyes cold and clear as frozen Lake Michigan. He moved with the effortless, disciplined poise of a former commando turned titan of industry. Continue reading →