"They’ll call it 'redevelopment,'" Arthur replied without turning. "But we both know it’s an autopsy."
As the clock struck twelve, the doorbell rang. It wasn't a butler who answered, but a young man in a power suit with a cellular phone the size of a brick. The era of the grand private residence at Park Lane No. 32 was ending, and the era of the luxury corporate suite was about to begin.
"The surveyors will be here at noon, Arthur," his sister, Eleanor, said from the doorway. She was already dressed for the city, her shoulder pads sharp enough to cut glass.
Park Lane No 32 (1989) May 2026
"They’ll call it 'redevelopment,'" Arthur replied without turning. "But we both know it’s an autopsy."
As the clock struck twelve, the doorbell rang. It wasn't a butler who answered, but a young man in a power suit with a cellular phone the size of a brick. The era of the grand private residence at Park Lane No. 32 was ending, and the era of the luxury corporate suite was about to begin. Park Lane No 32 (1989)
"The surveyors will be here at noon, Arthur," his sister, Eleanor, said from the doorway. She was already dressed for the city, her shoulder pads sharp enough to cut glass. "They’ll call it 'redevelopment