"Leon Scott Kennedy. Member of the special forces for boss man. S. T. A. R. S. or somethin' like it. He rescued Ashley from those crazies with the . . . 'Las Plagas' or whatever, right?"
"You truly ought to pay more attention to your first family. And the monopolies."
"Y'know, I never've had much of a mind for that sort of thing. Robbed trains, never funded 'em. More fun that way." He set the manila folder on top of the others that openly littered his desk. Eyes as blue as Montana skies focused on one of the pictures in the "deceased" pile. "Does Antonio know 'bout Louis?"
"It's pronounced loo-EES, not LOO-is. And he was very upset when he was given the news."
The man at the desk frowned at the other facing him. He took off his glasses and leaned his elbows against the edge. With pursed lips and steepled fingers, the blue eyes roved next over the charts and figures. ". . . And Umbrella?"
"Under my control. All of it. Every factor and facet, on a global scale."
". . . I suppose this is where I ask what's to become of my crew when ya become the face of the world."
"Come now, Mr. Jones. You don't think I've made plans for you and the others?"
"I'm sure y'ave. It's just rather hard to trust ya when my skin is falling off in patches as a result of the necrosis of my people."
The other chuckled, red eyes flashing from behind his tinted glasses. The laugh was dry. "You think I want to replace you all?"
". . . No. I think y'wanna own us all."
"Should I give you a price, now?"
"Get the fuck out of my office before I shoot you with the shotgun under my desk."
The man with the red eyes chuckled again. He turned toward the door and had almost closed it behind him when a voice rang out behind him.
"I can't stop it, Wesker. I said things would go haywire because of me. We saw that with Ivan. It's your bug; you kill it."
The office door closed, and the only proof of the meeting was the pile of manila folders filled with test data and the names of those involved with the events stemming from Raccoon City.