Ian "Illuminatiated" O'Keefe sat in a dimly lit diner, barely touching his food. The lines on his forehead were pronounced, lately he had been quite stressed due to the chaotic nature involved within his line of work. At a glance Ian was an innocent enough looking fellow, with a carefully crafted demeanor that allowed him to seamlessly transition between his roles; daytime stock trader to criminal mastermind. His skillset was multifaceted - the very same prowess which resulted in his tremendous success in the stock market also proved invaluable when it came time for his real job. 

Ian prided himself on his ability to collect information from trends and numbers just the same as he did with people - whether or not they were willing. It was a talent that he had honed for many years and had resulted in not only one, but two recruitment visits from the CIA. Ian fought back the urge to laugh out loud as he remembered swiftly declining both of the agents who had tried swaying him; as if he'd ever work on that side of the law. Despite his best efforts, the corner of Ian's mouth twitched up into a smirk as he absentmindedly ran his fork through the scrambled eggs which he had ordered but not consumed. 

The nearby sound of somebody clearing their throat shook Ian back to the moment. He looked up, surprised, to see a gentleman standing across the table. Ian hadn't realized how thoroughly consumed he had been by thought - it was infrequent that someone was able to approach this closely without him noticing. The man was clearly there with a purpose, there were only a select group of people who dressed this impeccably; politicians and criminal shot-callers. Ian dismissed the latter, the man didn't look familiar and didn't appear to be concealing a weapon. Without being invited to, the gentleman pulled out a chair and took a seat. 

"Ian, I'll get right to the point. We know that you know things which you should not know. We know that you declined multiple offers to work for one of the newer agencies in this country, the CIA. We know that you are affiliated with the underworld and we know that we need your help." 

The man smiled politely and matter-of-factly, never once breaking eye contact. Ian's curiosity was piqued to say the least.

"First of all," Ian calmly stated, "You can't accurately state that you have any idea whatsoever it is that I know, regardless of 'if I should know it'. Second, there has never been any proof of my alleged affiliation with the underworld, not a single shred of evidence."

The man emitted a low chuckle as he rolled his eyes. "Right, of course. Listen - I'm not here to bust your balls or make allegations, I'm here to offer you a job. I work for a private group of councilmen that have networked together in order to fast-track This Thing of Ours out of the current Rebuilding stages. We've noticed you and we'd like to offer you a temporary position within the city of Detroit, a low-key mentorship type deal. We'll keep your government name out of all the paperwork - whatever clout you gain during your tenure is yours to do with as you see fit, once business is back to normal. Many of our past operatives have decided to take on new identities after their term, others yet simply go back to whatever role they had prior to this position. Either way, Ian, we need you."

The man stood up, sliding a thick envelope across the table, and left without another word and it was only then that Ian realized he hadn't even learned the mans name. It seemed that Ian had been incorrect - the man certainly was a criminal shot-caller...but it also seemed as if the man had tremendous political roots. Ian grabbed the envelope from the table and emptied its contents. It was impressive; a giant wad of money, multiple sets of keys, a few documents - including more information about the job, and a flight ticket for a plane to Detroit. 

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A few hours later, Ian was packed and ready to make the move. He would land in Detroit and temporarily house/train the criminal underworlds' otherwise unsponsored miscreants with the intent of informing and rehousing them back into society. After business was back to normal enough to sustain itself, he would slip back into This Thing of Ours - or perhaps take on a new identity. Ian hadn't quite decided on that matter. A bridge he would cross when the time came for it - for now, he had work to do.