The upper West Side neighborhood in New York City are the epicenter of affluence. Pre-war brick brownstones and over-the-top retail stores define the character. That's why Garret Masterson bought an apartment after graduating from NYU.

Growing up in the Back Bay area around Boston he was always around money, expected money, craved money and the power it delivered. Summers in Marthas Vineyard and skiing in Switzerland were normal to him. His father was the founder of a pharmaceutical company and spared no expense for his wife and four children.

Garrett had a way with people. A weird animal magnetism that drew them into his web. He had lots of opportunities to ply his trade like a Wall Street investment banker. Things were going great for him. Women, booze, trips to Europe. Living the high life in a high rise until he heard from the family attorney. The words embezzlement and prison stung him like a thousand bees. A selfish ass, he realized in an instant that all his fun and games just dried up. That was the moment he became a recluse and locked himself away. The only person he trusted was the doorman, Paul.

He ordered his groceries for him. Scheduled in house doctor visits and other medical appointments. He even had the ability to convince some women to go up for “girl friend visits.” For a price of course. Paul became his best friend, his confidant, although they never met face to face.

Until the day the world changed forever.

The CDC nicknamed it Russian Fever because it came out of Siberia, and spread across the entire European continent within weeks. Seven out of ten people were killed within days decimating city after city.

Garret watched it all from inside his apartment. Paralyzed with fear. Wanting it to go away. Willing it and praying for it to stop. Yet he needed to see the destruction up close. The inner turmoil was too much. He snapped. Bolting out of his apartment and sprinting down the ten flights of stairs and out into the dilapidated lobby, where one lonely, dirty man was sitting in a wilted chair.

Coming face to face with the stranger, Garrett blurted out, “Paul. Are you Paul. Oh Paul, Paul my friend. I'm so happy you're alive.”

Turning his ashen face toward Garrett, his throat dry from being sick, he whispered: “Everyone is dead.” Then collapsed in a heap next to chair.