Nathan Kessler's Questionnaire

I live in Newark. New Jersey. Been here about eight years now. People outside think Newark’s either the old warzone from the news or some up-and-coming commuter city for people priced out of Manhattan. It’s neither. It’s just Newark.

The port keeps the real money flowing — shipping, freight, warehouses, customs officers who know when to look away. Corporate clients like that. There’s always work here if you know where to find it. The city’s big enough to offer cover, small enough that you can learn where the bodies are buried. That balance works for a business like mine. My place is in Ironbound. Old Portuguese neighborhood. Decent food, decent people, and — most importantly — people who mind their own business. I rent the top floor of a three-story walk-up. Small office. Reinforced doors. Simple. The company headquarters is down in South Ward, tucked into an old warehouse we converted: concrete, steel, no windows worth shooting through. Everything inside is bolted down, alarmed, and ready to be burned if it ever comes to that.

You live light in my line of work.

Private contracts. Corporate clients mostly. Sometimes government, sometimes people who pay in cash and want fewer receipts. Physical security, extraction, asset protection. The kind of work where they want bodies who know how to hold a line without asking too many moral questions. My company is small — I keep it that way. Tight teams. People I trust and that have worked with me in the past. The money goes to operational costs first — gear, maintenance, logistics, payroll. What’s left I put into the emergency fund - not a lot so far. I’m not building wealth. I’m building runway. Enough to keep the lights on when a job goes bad. I keep personal spending light. Weapons get priority. Training next. Insurance after that. Comfort’s a distant fourth. I don’t drink much, I don’t gamble. I’ve seen too many men ruin themselves trying to pretend their job’s normal: I'll laugh my way to the bank one day, but I'm living the lean days at the moment.

Eagle-eye view, I want independence. That’s it. The world’s full of men who serve bigger men, and those bigger men serve someone else. I don't want to owe anyone. My ambition is to build something that provides a good service and allows for a life more on my terms. No debts, no strings, no handlers pulling my leash when the politics change. I’ll take risks. I’ll take jobs others won’t touch. But I don’t take stupid risks. I don’t play hero. I kill if I have to — but only because the job demands it, not because it’s personal. Death is a tool, like any other. Would I risk my life? Yes. I already do, every job. But I won’t throw it away for pride or revenge. Survival comes first. Always.

My father died when I was sixteen. Steel mill collapse. Bad weld, should happen to no one, could have happened to anyone. Official report called it an accident. Company lawyer made sure the payout was just enough to keep us quiet. I remember watching my mother sign the papers. That was the first time I really understood what power means. And who has it. After that, I stopped believing the world was fair. Stopped thinking someone else would fix things. You either control your own life or someone else does. That lesson shaped every choice I made after. The army. The private work. The company. All of it. Fairness is a story we tell kids.

Gabe Marsh – My second-in-command. Ex-Ranger. Sharp, reliable, loyal — up to a point. He handles logistics and keeps the team sharp when I’m dealing with clients. Closest thing I’ve got to a friend, though we both pretend it’s strictly business.

Dr. Elaine Mercer – Contract medic. Former trauma surgeon who lost her license for reasons she doesn’t discuss. She patches up my people when things go sideways. Cold as ice when she works, but you can trust her hands. She doesn’t ask questions, which I value. Sometimes I think there is something else going on there, but between the time and the complications of life, maybe it's better to leave it well enough alone.

Arthur Kessler – My father. Dead twenty years now. But I still hear his voice sometimes when I’m weighing a decision. He was a good man in a world that eats good men alive. I try not to repeat his mistakes.