On my twenty-fifth birthday—

the day I inherited my father’s company.


My father looked me straight in the eye and asked,


“Donut. As a king… do you know what the most important duty is?”




Brooklyn, 1974.


I rang the buzzer of an old apartment building, then instantly jumped back from the door. When it cracked open, I peered through the narrow gap between the door and the wall.


A guy stood there—built like a pro wrestler.

Big, mean, and full of steroids.

But no gun.


“Trumpet Organization,” I said.


The wrestler tried to slam the door shut, but I slipped my polished leather shoe right into the gap.


“Your rent’s three months overdue.”


“So what?”


“One-twenty-one a month. That’s three-sixty-three total. And since I’m the one who came to collect, you’re gonna pay. Right now.”


The most important job for the King of Queens—was rent collection.


Some people think rent income means easy living. Those people have never collected a damn thing. Collecting rent is life or death.


Among my colleagues, there were guys who got a door opened and a bullet fired in the same second.

After the oil shock, the economy went to hell. New York was overflowing with the homeless. This apartment building was packed with people who didn’t even believe in paying for what they used.


Lies. Threats. Running away. Hiding. Violence. Fake crying.


They used every trick in the book to dodge payment.

Dragging them out, pinning them down, and squeezing the rent out of them—that was no job for the faint of heart.


As expected, the wrestler grinned without a trace of shame.


“You wanna get killed?”


“A rude idiot like you deserves a house with no rent at all.”


He grabbed me by the collar—but I didn’t flinch a millimeter.


“Someone saw you meeting with a drug dealer. I call the cops, and they’ll set you up with a cozy one-room suite—with bars.”


Stepping out of the building, I got stopped by a flashy old lady holding a Maltese. Afro hair, sequin sandals, pink hot pants.

Absolutely not my type.


“Hey, the guy next door is terrible! He threatened to kill my sweet Betty! Do something!”


“Dogs are banned. If you want to live here, dump it. Now.”


I brushed her off and walked outside—


Percy—short for Persimmon—the building’s super—was busy shooing kids away from my white Cadillac.


“Good job, Percy.”


I slipped him some cash. Percy had sharp eyes, and I always ordered him to dig up every resident’s weak point.


Panty thieves, affairs, shoplifting, cross-dressing—


secrets make rent collection easy.

But even after finishing the job, something inside me stayed heavy.

Ever since I inherited my father’s company, one question kept echoing in my head:


Is this… truly the work of a king?


That’s when I heard it.


“Hey! You’re just a servant!”


I turned around to see a kid staring at me like he owned the place.

Stretched-out T-shirt, worn-out sneakers—a brat from the building, no doubt.

I spoke slowly, clearly, so even his soft little brain could understand.


“I am a king. The King of Queens.”


“No you’re not. My mom and dad said so. My dad PAYS you. That’s why you clean the trash and fix the windows.”


“I only manage things. I don’t fix windows.”


“But you’re a servant. And it’s stupid that a servant drives such a cool car.”


The brat slapped his filthy hands all over my shining white Cadillac.

My chest froze.

I opened my mouth to talk back—but no words came out.


“I am a king.”


“Servant.”


“I… I am…”


Next thing I knew, I yanked open the driver’s door. The brat fell on his ass and started bawling. I hit the gas, blasting exhaust in his face, and sped off.




One hour later—


“Sell me the Twin Towers. Right now!”


I shouted it inside the World Trade Center lobby.


The receptionist looked at me like I was some exotic creature.

Security grabbed my shoulders and tossed me outside like a trash bag.

Cold wind slapped my cheek.


Here in Manhattan, I was nothing but background noise.


But when I looked up—at those Twin Towers piercing the sky—I swore:


I will turn the gears of destiny with my own hands.

I will become the King of Manhattan.


$ $ $


That night, gunshots rang out across Queens.

A young blonde woman collapsed.

A shadow fled into the darkness.


And I had no idea—

that this incident would change my life in a big way.