The sun had gone down by the time Vince Maston opened the door of O'Reilly's Tavern, a bad neighborhood pub in a busy section of Harborview, a city that has long considered itself the capital of professional wrestling.
If there is a single city in the world that eats, sleeps, and breathes wrestling, it is Harborview. The streets offered murals depicting past icons of wrestling. Old arenas that had gone to gyms or community centers were practically deified. Wrestling was a fabric of their way of life, not just something fun to do.
There were multiple promotions that operated out the city, and each one had its own representation in the vast metropolis. Iron Ring Wrestling (IRW) was that premier promotion in South Harborview, the most populous, middle-classed area, where blue collar families would flock to local shows every Friday night.
To the east, and newer promotion called Atlantic Championship Wrestling (ACW), darker, flashier programming, young, more rambunctious crowds. In terms of name recognition, ACW has eclipsed IRW in hard avail. And right above them all is Wrestling Federation (WF), a few miles uptown. WF was the biggest promotion in Harborview, the only local operation able to take on the big wrestling promotions in selected other cities.
To Vince, Harborview buzzed with potential. This was ground zero for what he wanted to create, a town consumed by a love for wrestling but craving something different.
He slid onto a stool at the bar and ordered a whiskey neat. As he sipped, he eavesdropped on a conversation from a booth a few feet away. Three men in their thirties, nursing beers, were talking with that unmistakable Harborview drawl.
"You hear about IRW's new owner?" one of them asked.
"Yeah," said the other one. "Some rich kid, right? He's barely old enough to shave and he's already buying a wrestling company."
The third guy let out a snort. "I bet he's some entitled jerk with daddy's money---I bet he hasn't ever watched a match!"
"God, I hope he doesn't screw it up," the first one grumbled. "There's already enough wrong with IRW. I've been watching them since I was a kid, I really don't want to see it get worse.
Vince grimaced at their words, swirling his whiskey. He couldn't truly fault them, they didn't know him, didn't know what he was doing. But to hear IRW referred to as if it was an old relic gasping for breath solidified his determination. They'll see soon enough. Just give me time.
He hammered back the rest of his drink, left a tip on the bar, and stepped back out into the neon-lit streets of Harborview. In the distance, the skyline of the city glittered; a mix of old brick buildings and new glass towers; the same juxtaposition of old world and new world in Harborview.
______
Vince's car quietly roared as it stirred to life when he pulled into M&M Tower's underground garage. He climbed up to the 23rd floor (where Maston Holdings was located) in the elevator.
Maston Holdings was his baby, a small yet determined investment company he created after receiving a little inheritance and making some opportunistically well-placed bets in emerging tech. It was not a huge success yet. However, it was consistent, steady—most importantly, it provided Vince enough capital to follow his dreams.
Upon entering the office, he was greeted by their small cast of seven employees—a group of sharp, eager faces each assigned to the various subsets of their growing portfolio. They may not have been many, but they were loyal.
"Evening Mr. Maston," one of them said, lightly bobbing his head.
"Evening," Vince said with a momentary grin before embracing his path over to Maston Holdings' CEO and childhood friend Gavin Lindman's glass-walled corner office. Gavin is tall and well-dressed, always smiling—a guy that could talk his way out of a hostage situation. However, more important to Vince's career, Gavin was a lifelong wrestling fan and the guy who introduced Vince to Lance Dawson in the first place.
"Ah, the new wrestling mogul himself!" Gavin greeted as he leaned back in his seat. "So how's IRW looking? Ready to take the WF head-on yet?"
Vince chuckled dryly. "Not even close. Right now? Long process. We're literally starting from nothing. But totally doable, I just need time--and for everyone to buy into the vision."
Gavin tilted his head. "You sure they are ready for it? IRW is stuck in the same mold for decades."
"They don't have to be ready," Vince said firmly. "I'll drag them up that goddamn ladder if I have to."
"Ha, that's the Vince I know," Gavin said with a laugh.
He tapped on his tablet. "Oh, the Tech Expo is next week. You know, the one downtown. Dongle--"
"The search engine guys?" Vince instantly recognized the name.
"Yep," Gavin nodded. "They're doing a presentation on their latest research. Since we have quite a bit of their stock, you might want to get down there. Worst case, you meet some new people."
Vince made a mental note. "I'll be there. Also..." He paused. "Get me a secretary. Preferably female. An organized one." He shook his head. "I am going to need one if I am splitting time between IRW and this place."
"Done," Gavin replied with a smirk. "I will call HR. Anything else?"
They continued to small talk: Their quarterly projection, potential minor investments for the club, and the fact that IRW's first show with Vince at the helm was fast approaching, before Vince finally stood.
"Alright," Vince said, "back to work. The weekly show is coming quickly, and I already have work to do."
Gavin gave Vince a mock salute. "Go save wrestling, Mr. Maston."
Vince smiled. "I will."
As Vince closed an office door and stepped back into the elevator, his mind was already racing. The game pieces were on the board. Now it was time to make the moves.