Hello. My name is Ezekiel Vandermoon.

A dozen men and women, frenzied and panic-stricken, barebones-skinny, moved swiftly to the opposite side of the space, white-knuckled hands gripping cast-iron bars.

My family moved to America from South Africa when I was just seven years old. We were dirt poor for many, many years.

Finally, the footsteps halted.

'Did you really think your actions would go unpunished?'

Silence.

Affluence equals security for me and my family. In America, those who have money have power. This is a simple idea in theory, but difficult to achieve when you come from nothing.

'Well…?' Ezekiel's eyes stood out in the pitch-blackness of the windowless basement like stars in space.

With a careful squeeze of the trigger, the silencer-aided repressed pop of a single shot being fired resounded throughout the small enclosure. Almost instantly, before the echo of the shot had even begun to dissipate, a man dropped lifelessly to the floor, landing at the feet of the other captives, who immediately fanned out in an effort to evade the fast dispersing pool of blood belonging to their fallen comrade.

I am a businessman by nature. My business involves the importing and exporting of a valuable commodity. Presently, we service a global client-base that nears a thousand, and is expanding at a fast, but manageable, pace. Word of mouth is a beautiful thing.

'Let that be a lesson to the rest of you. Just because we aren't home, doesn't mean we aren't listening.' Ezekiel trained the handgun on each of his captives, one at a time. 'Not a sound from now on.'

I manage my business under a stringent set of operating policies. For my business to survive, they must be followed to the tee. I never waver.

Ezekiel turned and walked away, whistling the tune of the Jackson 5's 'ABC' as he disappeared around the corner and back upstairs.

'Back to sleep, all of you. You've got a big day ahead of you tomorrow.'

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