A long time ago, Frank Arazia heard someone say that a criminal is merely someone with predatory instincts who lacked enough capital and experience to start his own corporation. Initially he'd written it off as a trite, pessimistic joke, but lately, it had been popping back into his mind. Frank stared out the window of the 11th floor of the Zexaron Corporation headquarters in the vast oil fields of Bakersfield, California. Just a few miles out stood the crux of Zexaron, a mess of machinery, pipes, and electricity fused with a desolate field where oil mining supposedly took place.
Frank wrinkled his brow. He knew deep down that oil mining wasn't the ultimate mission of Zexaron, a company that had appeared out of nowhere 20 years ago. When Frank joined the company as a construction supervis
