The Parrot on Lexington
The elevator in the Lexington Avenue building had a habit of stopping on every floor between the lobby and the thirty-second floor during rush hour. Jack Callahan hated it. He hated the delays, the small talk, the way the other tenants looked at him as if he were a puzzle they couldn't solve. At thirty-eight, Jack had built an empire from nothing—two tenements in Hell's Kitchen and a reputation...
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