UNION TO EXPAND OVERSEAS

New Artiforg Technology Hits US

In the comfort of his retreat at the top of the company's headquarters, GeneCo's founder read the morning news through narrowed eyes. His usual breakfast of peaches, poached eggs, and brown rice patiently on his desk, waiting for him. As was his routine, he had locked the doors to his office and kept out the guards for some true solitude. The time blinked on his tablet, telling him that he still had a half-hour before his children crawl over to GeneCo and began their daily rounds of pestering him for one thing or another. He was happiest when alone, and now he couldn't even enjoy that with the stories in the morning paper.

When the national deficit spiraled into oblivion and healthcare collapsed under its own bulk, his company rose above all others. Technicians and investors sacrificed so much in those early days. He had been biding his time, quietly setting up new firms first in US neighbors thanks to trade agreements and then in select European countries. When a whistle-blower called monopoly, he divied up the company shares between a few trusted associates who continued reporting to him and asking for his guidance. After everything he had done and worked for, some charlatan thinks that he can pass off his "artiforg" snake-oil as comparable in quality, even superior?

He looked over at the meager portions he was given by his chef at the instruction of his physician. His health was manageable for now, but it meant abstaining from so many pleasures and indulgences. He could even hope to live another five years with good luck, plenty of time to find a new heir to his company unless, by some miracle, his children became worthy of their family name. He looked at the array of pills next to the peaches, amused because his chef was so pathologically meticulous that she found it necessary to add flair and presentation to the pills. He'd better start eating before everything got cold and unpalatable.

Because he always took his time with each meal, he finished moments before the receptionist called him over the intercom. "Vultures outside, Mr. Largo," she said furtively.

Just as he had expected, someone brutishly rattled the doorknob. "Pops, you in there?" It was his oldest, calling out in a nasal voice that irritated him to no end. He couldn't remember anyone on his side of the family sounding like that.

"Daddy, come on!" whined his daughter when he didn't answer. "Can't we come in too?"

With a sigh, he pushed a button to unlock the doors. In came his three children followed closely by two guards who took their positions at the entry. He cringed disdainfully to see his second son wearing yet another woman's face. "What is it that can't wait another five minutes?"

While the younger two fell into the plush couch and chaise lounge, his oldest stayed on his feet to saunter toward the oaken desk. Rotti Largo's disdain grew because his son's mannerism and smile all indicated that he found something out and thought himself very damn clever to mention; Luigi seemed to think that he was often more clever than his father, a notion rarely supported by most situations. "Pops, I just want you to know that how proud I am of our family, and that I can't wait for when I'll take charge of things." Despite his best efforts, his children found out about how sick he was. "Besides, isn't the oldest usually the smartest?"

"Get to the point," he growled, his cheek twitching.

Even as an invalid, he inspired fear. Luigi's bravado deflated slightly, but he kept his smile. "I'm sure you know all about the new company opening its door in America." His tone expected a no.

"I read about it this morning."

For some reason, that didn't deter him. "Then I bet you know all about a few new buys." His eyes gleamed with the peculiar light that always came when he watched pseudo-snuff films.

Rotti guarded himself well. "I suppose you know everything about it too." He gestured vaguely. "Prove it."

Luigi couldn't outcompete his father in most verbal fencing matches because he didn't know how to pick his battles. In spite of this, he knew when his father was bluffing. "I don't want to insult my dear old Dad by saying any of this," he began, turning away. "But I guess you heard what they bought."

"Maybe you'd learn how to have a conversation if you couldn't use your tongue, like you did with the last tramp you brought up here."

He whirled around, one hand waving a vindictive finger and the other reaching for his ivory-handled knife. "She said that my-"

Rotti's steely glare invited his son to dare consider murder. The younger siblings, who had only begun paying attention moments before the outburst, froze. Despite all being eager to inherit the company, they were convinced that their father would come back from the grave to haunt them if any tried to kill him. His will hadn't been finalized either, plus they couldn't compete forever over who go to do what. He was the only person who could control them, and the company would go down in flames without him as their peacekeeeper.

Luigi's blood ran cold as he extinguished the flame of his fury. After pacing around to collect himself, he gained back the bravado which was now tempered with sobriety. "Then you know who bought those slices of GeneCo." He jumped back as soon as the words left his mouth, the grin suddenly widening.

The desk lurched from Rotti jumping to his feet, so incensed that he dropped his bluff and bellowed, "Who authorized this?"

"Papa, they are their own!" chimed second son from his couch, for once putting down his mirror. He finished speaking just as his brother snapped, "Pavi, shut the fuck up."

"You idiots! I told you to stop any acquisitions!" Rotti arched over his desk like a lion. "And you can't even do that much?"

"But Daddy, we tried!" His daughter jumped off the chaise, wearing her trademark moue with the hope that it'd abate his anger.

"None of you tried hard enough!" He slammed his fist on the desk so hard that his first bruised, but he ignored the pain. "How long have you known!" Before any of his children had a chance to speak so they could bargain or cajole, he added, "Tell me or I'll cut off every cent of your allowances!"

Luigi was so nervous that his response sounded like a mewl. "Just this morning, honest, Pops!" Reaching into his inner coat pocket, he pulled out the rolled-up report. "There ya go!"

Snatching the report, his eyes marched along each line. His rage grew with each paragraph finding that someone at those companies had pulled the wool over his eyes and expected him to be none the wiser. By the end of the report, he was seething. "You bring me this expecting a reward? You think I'll give you my chair now?" While the trio stared dumbstruck, he emerged from behind his desk with the unusual agility that his body still possessed. "You think that you can win at a game when you don't even bother to learn the rules?" None could offer a response, and he was quickly losing his patience. "Get out, all of you. It's your fault I'm so sick as it is."

The younger two backed away while Luigi lingered for a moment before joining them. When he got to the door, Pavi opened his mouth to speak while he still had the opportunity. His father snapped at him to leave before he could utter a word.

Rotti felt his blood pressure decrease considerably once they left. He pushed the intercom button on his desk. "Find out more about The Union. I want to speak with a few of their representatives."