His kitchen cost more than an average family's home. He had cooked in it not even once since moving in. His private chef got good use out of it. Roman told him it was the nicest kitchen out of all his clients. This included kitchens owned by descendants of monarchs in Europe.

The man with the expensive suit knew this was meant to make him feel good. A compliment he took with grace but his chef's opinion meant nothing to him.

In fact his own opinion about his own

kitchen

meant nothing. More truthfully, he had no opinion about his kitchen. All he knew was that he'd spent 37 million dollars on the house itself. So maybe the kitchen was about two or three million.

He heard a people were suffering "out there". But he was up here. In the hills. He was protected from whatever people were so scared about down there. He spent his days sitting up here drinking 

whiskey

and looking at the 

internet

. Sometimes he'd go out for lunches with people or play tennis with them. The conversations were banal discussions on what the other people looked at on the internet. It bored him utterly and he wondered whether he would blow his brains out before he turned 50. There was no way he could live until 90 like this.

This is why he liked The Blue Man. Not the influencer dancing on his screen, but the actual person. The kid was the only connection the man in the expensive suit had to something real. And soon that would be gone. The Fat Man would soon make it disappear. 

The music stopped coming out of the speakers. He sipped the last of the whiskey. A tear dropped along his cheeks.