The Mine: Three: Kane

(Changing the stories name to The Mine)
The automatic doors of the first building slid open with a hiss. When I stepped inside, I met relief, as the interior was air-conditioned. I was in a large grey-walled room. On either side of the space were two sets of red leather chairs. Outdated magazines rest on glass coffee tables next to the chairs. At the far side of the room was a black marble counter, behind which sat many attendant, all of which were typing away or talking into headsets. It was shocking, how different this place was than outside, different worlds, existing side by side.
I walked down the center of the room, following Michael, my feet padding on the velvet carpet. Mud fell from my boots into the grain of the fabric, and I wondered if I should clean it up. Michael noticed my expression, and guessed what I was thinking.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, “they don’t care,” he turned and continued walking. I followed him to the counter, where we waited. After about a minute, a blond woman typing at her computer looked up; she saw Michael, and without a word, waved us past. I followed Michael into a stainless steel elevator, and he pressed the button for the top floor.
Before long, we were walking out of the metal box onto the thirtieth floor. We strode up to a secretary sitting at a desk and same as the receptionist when seeing Michael, she waved us through.
The office beyond the secretary was by far the largest I had ever seen. The desk alone was as big as the buggy we had driven here in. Shades hung in a gigantic picture window at the end, which was at least four times as big as the buggy. The man sitting at the desk was old. He had a short military buzz cut that somehow made his silvery-gray hair even more noticeable. Deep wrinkles crisscrossed over his face, and a cigarette sat clasped between two blemished fingers. He sat so still that at first I wondered that maybe he had not realized we had come in, maybe he was blind or sleeping. But then his hand rose to his face, the cigar went into his mouth and out, and he blew a thick cloud of grey smoke into the air. It floated above our heads for a moment, then was swept away by the air conditioning.
“Hello,” he said abruptly, in a voice that was much stronger then I thought it was going to be, “Are you David? The reporter?” I was silent for a moment, still admiring the room, then Michael elbowed me sharply in the ribs.
“Ow! Yeah, I’m David,” he stood, producing a cane from under the desk for support. He walked to the window and pressed a button on the side. The shades retracted up, automatically curling into a small sheath at the top. When the white shroud was completely retracted, an impressive scene lay before me. Three mountains loomed into the distance, stretching into the clouds far above. The sides of each of the pyramids were emerald, covered in lush greenery. At the base of the mountains, the wall of green ended suddenly. Brown stumps sat, ugly and sad, only shadows of what they had once been. Numerous tunnels started at different points on the mountains, black mouths stretching down into the earth. Men went back and forth out of the tunnels, working.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” the old man said.
Even though I didn’t agree with him at all, I told him that, yes, it was wonderful.
“We haven't been properly introduced,” he said, “I’m Kane, the CEO of this place,”
“Nice to meet you,” I said, reaching out a hand, “And you already know who I am,”
“Yes,” he said, “You are David Linningham, from the New York Times, writing an article on the conditions in my mine, is that correct?”
“Yes,” I said, “That’s correct, can you take me to the employee area?”
“Yeah, sure,” he said, and clamped a gigantic hand on my shoulder, steering me towards the door, “right this way,”