K did not want to be King anymore. Not without his mother. And not on his father's terms. But Railroad wasn't called Railroad for nothing. And no was not an answer he would accept from his only son, the son whose duty it was to take over the family media empire. K knew it would have helped to have a plan of his own, a direction, an ambition, anything. And he wished he did. A girlfriend would have been nice too, would have been better than his clumsy imaginary friend Jerry Lewis. But when nothing much seems worth doing, it's hard to have a future worth having. Until one morning, Railroad kicks K out of the house and the family, then somehow manages to frame his son for his assassination. Never mind that the real assassins are as bumbling as the FBI agents trying to catch K.
From that moment forward, K's future is no longer a matter of whether K wants to be King, it's a matter of whether he can slip out of the noose tightening around his neck.
