Siggy had completed his initial sketches and plans for his defining piece. It would be completely different from the bulk of his work. There would be no boxes, no artifacts scattered on its face. It would be a small mural of sorts, less Cornell and more Diego Rivera. He wanted to express the struggle of justice and fairness, of toil and suffering, and the dreadful consequences if those circumstances were not addressed. He finally felt ready to begin the next step in his process, the harvesting.

Logistically he knew it would be a nightmare. The planning needed to be impeccable and precise. He was still unclear as to all the necessary details, however a ghost of a plan had begun to form in his head and he decided that with any luck, it would solidify over time from the incorporeal phantom it was now to the tangible and decisive strategy it needed to become.

The first step, as always, was to perform the necessary research and to secure the components required for the implementation of his plan. The research proved deceptively easy to find. He began with simplified layman explanations of the necessary procedure and gradually studied more and more detailed accounts until he found himself spending great amounts of time solving various equations and studying detailed blueprints discovered deep within the arcane depths of the internet.

When it came time to begin the procurement process Siggy found it necessary to put off the actual ordering until he could find a manner of delivery which could not be traced back to him.

He took a long drive to Charlotte, about one hundred and twenty miles, to search out a private mailbox rental firm. He wore a broad rimmed hat to hide his features from security cameras and purchased a three month lease in cash under the name of  Thomas Benton.

Though the items he wished to purchase were not federally regulated, they could be considered suspicious if an investigation were ever to be launched, so it was imperative that the purchase could in no way be traced to him. He needed to find retailers who would accept payment in money orders, a process which increased the amount of time to receive the item, but assured anonymity, since they would be sent by, and the merchandise sent to Thomas Benton in Charlotte.

The two items he needed were common and easy to find. The retailer Siggy finally chose was called Sunset Mining Supplies out of Yuma, Arizona. He placed his order as quickly as possible, the more time between delivery and the actual event, the less likely it was to arouse suspicion with the supplier.

The actual order was placed from an Internet cafe in Charlotte, again wearing a simple disguise. He dropped the money orders in a nearby mailbox addressed to the retailer in Arizona with a return address of the mailbox he had rented. When these fundamental tasks were finally performed, Siggy returned home.

It had been an exhausting yet fruitful day.

Bartholomew Fisk was spending one of his rare days in the office. As chairman of the board and majority stock holder in his company, he was able to do anything he wanted without question.

His primary skill was the ability to recognize talent, acquire it, and use it to grow both his business and his market share. His holdings in not only his own company, but dozens more, made him one of the richest men in the world, with a personal fortune worth over forty billion dollars. It wasn't simply the money he craved, that was just a way to keep score, it was the power and legal invulnerability that that money provided.

Fisk was well aware of his family fortune's dark roots and couldn't care less. He was aware of the tens of thousands of yearly deaths caused by his hawking of opioid based medications produced by his pharmaceutical companies and couldn't care less. He was aware of the countless small businesses he had crushed and couldn't care less. What he did care about was his status, his art collection, and the constant fulfillment of all his desires.

He sat behind his massive desk smoking a Gurkha's His Majesty's Reserve cigar, considered the most exclusive smoke in the world, infused with Louis XIII cognac, and retailing at a stunning $750 per cigar, a fact he gladly volunteered to everyone he knew.

His Executive Assistant, Miss Meyer, buzzed his office.

"What is it Miss Meyers?" He asked with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Mr. Santiago is here to see you."

"Very well, send him in."

A tall middle aged man in a shiny suit entered. He was well groomed, but sported an unbecoming Van Dyke beard. He seated himself in a chair opposite the desk, noting to himself that the chairs seemed abnormally low, forcing him to look up at Fisk.

"You wanted to see me Mr Fisk? Is there anything special you need that I can help you with?"

"Yes, Santiago. I'd like another kilo of  the Peruvian, not that Columbian you delivered last time."

"Yes, Sir, anything else?"

"Now that you mention it, I'm going to be hosting a hippy themed party in a couple of months, any suggestions?"

Santiago thought for a moment before answering, "Well, LSD, of course, perhaps psilocybin mushrooms, peyote buttons or synthetic mescaline, speed, and if you're feeling adventurous, PCP."

"Alright, LSD, a couple of hundred mushrooms, the peyote rather than the refined mesc, 50 buttons I think... no speed or PCP, we have coke."

"How would you like the acid... blotter, tabs, or liquid for putting on sugar cubes?"

"Liquid, enough for a couple of hundred cubes dosed really high."

"Got it, I should have everything in about ten days."

Fisk reached into his desk drawer and pulled out three stacks of bills. He tossed them one at a time to Santiago.

"There's thirty grand, that should cover it with a nice tip for you. Call my assistant when you have it, she'll make arrangements to have it picked up as usual. Now get out of here."

A broad smile crossed Santiago's face, "You got it, boss." He put the money in his pocket and left the office.

Fisk returned to enjoying his cigar. "These are really worth it," he said out loud with satisfaction. He was truly a master of the universe and he knew it.

Adrianna curled up on her couch, scraping the last vestiges of chocolate ice cream from a container. It was a guilty pleasure she'd partaken of since her early twenties that still had the power to cheer her up. The reason she needed this mood enhancer was a nagging feeling she developed after Wilson boarded his flight home.

She found herself concerned that Siggy would change as a result of his ever growing success. Adrianna had seen the scenario play out many times while she worked as a therapist. A devoted artist corrupted by monetary success. It was what she sensed in Wilson and the look in his eyes when he confessed his envy of Siggy broke her heart.

Siggy seemed fine though, she thought, he'd given most of his money away, after all. He still seemed obsessed with his art, a negative thing in most people, but vital to a soul such as he.

She did not want to lose him to success or celebrity. Adrianna loved him just as he was. A little shy, a little crazy, living in a reality she could sense was different from everyone else's.

For her entire life, men had pursued her, some because she resembled Botticelli's Venus, some because she was simply beautiful. She had had many lovers, but never love. She knew that part of Siggy's initial attraction to her was because of the 'Venus problem', as she called it in her diary, but she also knew the important distinction between him and her other suitors. It was not the beauty of Venus that attracted him, it was the idea of Venus. To him, she was the embodiment of love, pure love. It wasn't Eros, it was philia, a love between equals, the highest form of love.

The thought of him changing frightened her. She had never felt as safe, nurtured, or loved as she did when sleeping in his arms. She felt a bit silly and girlish at her insecurity, but this only confirmed to her the legitimacy of her feelings.

Adrianna resolved to trust Siggy, to believe in his integrity and decency. If he truly was the man she believed he was, the starry eyed champion of the wronged, the dedicated crusader for justice, the kind and gentle soul, then he would never sell out, never disappoint her.

She would grow at his side, an equal but distinct star in the universe he perceived. She would walk at his side on the course destiny paved.

Adrianna scolded herself aloud and checked for another container of ice cream. Sometimes you eat it just because it tastes good.