Fenton Wilkes had always dreamt of being famous. Now he had his chance. Wilkes pushed his thick black frames up his nose and brushed a lock of stringy brown hair away from his forehead in annoyance. He finished typing, read over his message, and hit "Send." He picked up the documents emblazoned with "CONFIDENTIAL, PROPERTY OF GLOBAL MOTOR CARS" and slipped them into the envelope addressed to The Chicago Tribune. The doorbell rang. Irritated at the intrusion, Wilkes reluctantly went to the door and opened it, then flew backward, propelled by the force of the slug that slammed into his chest....