On the south east corner of Madison and Clark street sat a very impressive and self claimed "world's tallest hotel" named Morrison Hotel. Inside this hotel was a fine restaurant called Boston Oyster House and there were many days where mob boss Marcus could be found at one of the clothed tables having lunch, drinking coffee or chatting with business associates. Today wasn't any different, Marcus sat near one of the large floor to ceiling windows on the left side of the restaurant. A coffee cup filled with piping hot black coffee sat in front of him, a cigarette in his right hand and the seat across from him open for now. He was waiting for the owner of the hotel to join him.

Just when Marcus was setting the coffee cup back onto it's china plate the owner and exhaling from a , Mr. Morrison approached the table and took a seat. A waiter quickly approached their table and Morrison ordered a cup of joe as well. After it arrived he poured a bit of sugar and cream into it, stirring it with a silver spoon.

"Marcus, I'm glad you've agreed to meet with me today."

Morrison's tone was friendly, but desperate. Marcus and the hotel owner had been friends and business associates for awhile. Morrison was not apart of the criminal life, but he did dabble in it off and on. Marcus had done him favors in the past and Morrison had done Marcus favors. They spoke to each other in a very casual manner even when taking care of business.

You know me Morrison, I can never turned down a free lunch, especially at Boston Oyster. Marcus gave a sly grin. Now what's this about? When I received your phone call last night I was a bit surprised and your tone sounded almost terrified.

Morrison fumbled around with the cup, nervously taking a few sips before answering the question addressed to him.

"The hotels going under."

After the man confessed, his shoulders slumped down. Marcus knew that the hotel was Morrison's life. It was his baby, his pride and joy. As it should be, the place was grand and right off The Loop. It housed the Boston Oyster House, Terrace Garden Dinner Theater, Cameo Room and was one of the tallest buildings in Chicago. The Cameo Room held a New Years Eve party every year. Anyone who was anyone, from politicians, mob bosses, foreign royalty and even down to plain tourists stayed, played and ate at The Morrison. ,/em>

Marcus was a man of business and he knew how to make a profit. He instantly knew he was sitting in his newest money maker. With it's 2,500 rooms each of them with their own private bath. The vacancy level was usually pretty low. There was the rooftop garden giving guests a wonderful view of Lake Michigan and all of Chicago's beauty. Marcus had been up there a few times and quite enjoyed himself. Morrison had worked on the hotel for the majority of his life, his hair was thinning and turning gray, his face showed many wrinkles and there was less bounce in his step each time Marcus saw him. He was probably just a few months shy of retiring anyway. Even though Morrison loved the hotel and would do anything for it he wasn't going to be able to save it this time.

Morrison I'll take care of it for you. How much would you be willing to sell it to me for?

Morrison was just about to bring his coffee cup to his lips when he came to a dead stop as he listened to Marcus's words.

"But, but, this place is my baby." Morrison held up his hands, his faced pained but Marcus could tell that he was already thinking about it. "What would I do without this place?"

You'd retire, move yourself and your family down to Florida and relax. Get out of this frigid weather. Marcus quickly replied, he could be quite persuasive most of the time he just knew his friend needed a little push, someone to tell him it was alright. Morrison if you hand the hotel over to me you know it'll be in good hands. I'll even keep the name.

Morrison nodded.

"Marcus, you're right. I'll have my lawyer send you all the details." Morrison stood up and extended out his hand. "I don't mean to be rude my friend, but this decision I'm sure will cause both of our day to be quite busy. Much preparing."

Marcus also stood, shook the hand of his friend and already started to think about the in house casino he could set up in the second floor ballroom.

I'm glad I could help you with this problem.

Marcus smiled and left Morrison to take care of his business. He exited through the Madison street entrance. This lobby was a little more elaborate then the Clark street entrance. With it's Georgian style gray marble floors and wood paneled walls, twenty-eight foot ceiling and marble front desk. Marcus smiled to himself as he knew he had just made a great investment.