"Yes. A modification to the glider. It's a damned shame that the military never saw the combat uses of the glider..." he said, turning the page this way and that as he sketched. Damn it, he needed a drawing pad. He reminded himself to have Stella buy one as soon as possible.

"I don't suppose there's anything to do in this dull city, is there? I'm dying of boredom. At least Greece and Switzerland were fun." Norman said, a note of irritation creeping into his voice.

He was so bored that killing someone now seemed like a worthy way to pass the time. He stopped and looked up at Stella for a long moment. He immediately banished the thought. Not only was she useful, but she was the only person who really understood him. Not even mother or Uncle Mark could say that.

Grandpa was a megalomaniacal psychopath with delusions of grandeur. Dad wasn't able to fill the hole that failure left in his father's life, leaving Norman to shoulder the responsibility of a legacy that only he could manage. But at least there was an Osborn worthy of doing so now.

"You look very nice tonight, Miss Cicero. That dress...did I buy it for your birthday?" he asked.