[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=orangered]Caesar Gonzalez[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img]http://media.giphy.com/media/wbomIbUs5Bc2I/giphy.gif[/img][hr][b]Location:[/b] The Regal Building, Apartment 1D (His)
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	That was interesting indeed. Not so much that one man, John Tegan, owned so much real estate in the area (though it was worth noting), but that he felt the need to bury it under numerous layers of corporate rigmarole, as if he were hiding something. Now, that something could be a simple repositioning of holdings into a more favorable tax slot, as fits the custom of moneyed individuals, or it could be something more sinister. 

	The last piece of the puzzle Caesar could uncover before losing the digital trail was the name of another shell company, Gretchen Mortgage LLC, and a single other holding of note: Storage, Dockside. Why would that be accessible to the public, yet buried in a manner to make it cumbersome to locate? Why bother putting it out there in the first place? And what connection would this mystery storage unit have with the five buildings in this area? Well, only one way to find out. 

	A glance to the clock on the wall gave the older man a jolt of surprise. It had been just a handful of hours since he'd started his investigation into his video and the real estate. It had felt like so much longer. Perhaps this is what happens sometimes when one woke up early and threw themselves into a project, despite his experiences in the matter to the contrary. Plenty of daylight left with which to check out this new information with his own two eyes. Not being familiar with the docks of this particular city, Caesar had to fall back on his knowledge of other locales and their waterfront districts. People go there to die, at least at nighttime.  

	Short form: He wasn't going to go snooping around unless he had an excellent idea of the lay of the land. It would be some time before his girls got back from work, he assumed the same of the forensic technician. Besides, he hadn't seen much of the city as of yet, aside from his company's contract venues and a couple of watering holes. Maybe a touristy section or two. There was an applicable segment of time to investigate and return. Caesar scribbled down the name of the building's owner, the shell company, and the address of the storage unit on postit notes and attached them along the top of his laptop's monitor. He took a few minutes to open up a secure window, punch the address into the search bar, and get a good look at the overhead and street views of the location he was about to visit. 

	Within twenty minutes, Caesar was in his standard working gear and sitting atop a glorious street machine, his Harley Scorpion Reverse Trike. It was unapologetically parked on his patio, below street level. The engine roared to life, quickly quieting to a low idle. The grizzled Mexican settled his helmet over his luxurious hair and spurred his machine up the steps and onto street level, putting distance between himself and his apartment.