Destro_Whelan sat down at a table with his book tucked under his arm at the local Mafia Library, known mostly for it's selection of mafia-related books and such.  He nodded at the man sitting across from him who was reading a leather-bound hardcopy of Systematic Immolation of Thought.  He sat down and opened his own book, titled "The History of the Writing Competitions".

The book was said to capture the spirit of the many writing competitions without shying away from the more sinister side of them, including the bodies the contests claimed.  It was said to pull no punches, and that was exactly what Destro_Whelan was looking for.  The brutal truth. 

The book spoke of a man who amassed a small fortune early on in his mafia career by participating in a contest boasting 40 million dollars as its grand prize.  It spoke of the controversy surrounding the outcome of it, the allegations of corruption and rigging.  The winner was a villainous man named "Destro".  This name of course meant nothing to Destro_Whelan, but he read on anyway, hoping to find some sort of clue as to what these competitions had to do with his mother and father.

Destro_Whelan soon found himself immersed in the book, the rich yet dark history of the contests.  He was fascinated, reading of the tangled web the competitions casted.  He turned the page to an illustration of the 40 million dollar winner and gasped aloud.

It was the man with the metal mask. 

The man in the picture was wearing the same metal mask he had found in the secluded alleyway in Seattle.  Destro_Whelan let the book fall from his hands and fall to the table, making a loud thud that echoed through the library.

"Are you ok?" the gentleman peered over his edition of Systematic Immolation of Thought to express his concern for Detro_Whelan, who looked like he had just seen a ghost.

"Yes.... yes I am fine." Destro_Whelan said, embarrassed by his outburst.  "It's just.... you see I am searching for clues, clue as to who my parents were, and why they left me to fend for myself in this cold, cruel world.  I was told I might learn something from this book, but all it seems to focus on is a man named "Destro".  Could he be linked to my parents somehow?"

The man smiled warmly at Destro_Whelan.  "You're not going to find your answers in that book."

Destro_Whelan's heart sank.  Another dead end it would appear.  Destro_Whelan contemplated giving up all together, but the man seated across from him spoke again.

"If you want the truth, you need to follow the money.  Who contributed to these contests?  Who would benefit to see the winner collect the money?  Find out the answer to these questions, and you will come closer to finding the truth  A crewleader perhaps.

"Please, you must tell me," Destro_Whelan pleaded.  "Who contributed to the contest?  This book about the history of the writing contests claims that no crewleaders contributed any money to these writing competitions."

The man closed his book, the  Systematic Immolation of Thought, looked from side to side, then leaned forward and whispered to Destro_Whelan.

"There was one crewleader who contributed money to the man who ran the contests.  A woman from Chicago."

"Really," Destro_Whelan replied.  "Can I buy you a drink down the street?  I would like to learn about this woman you speak of...."