3: Meet and Greet

I was unpleasantly surprised today, he told Nixon that night. You must have missed something in the Saitou archives.

There are millions of files to read, the reply came immediately. Are you talking about the hidden older sister?

You knew and didn't tell me?

Nixon: I sent you a msg after I found it after our last conversation. I mean, I found signs before our conversation of some things which were expunged from official records, but no conclusive proof of her existence until after you'd already logged off. Perhaps in the future, you could give me somewhere I can reach you at any time of the day? Such as, for example, your email?

Kyouya considered. It would be too revealing to give Nixon his real email, or even one of his numerous aliases. At the level of Nixon's expertise, he would probably be able to decode his employer's identity in five seconds flat.

Send an untraceable text to this number with a link to publically accessible downloadable file, he replied, giving Nixon the number for a burner phone he carried on him. Any time of the day.

A beat. Another beat. Very well. Secretive little man, aren't you?

What makes you think I'm a man?

Would a female use "Mother" as an alias? It'd go against taste. Q.e.d.

Kyouya shrugged. What did you find out about the elder sister?

Not denying or affirming my accusation, I see. The elder sister's name is Saitou Asukami. Twenty-three years of age, Japanese passport. Formerly the favorite of Saitou Ruoji, her grandfather and the oldest living Saitou. She was disinherited five years ago for unbecoming behavior. One gets the sense that she eloped. To Europe. There are quite a few references to a business partner who was then excommunicated.

Details on the partner?

Dieter Grundy, a master's student at the Heidelberg University in Germany, who used to do R&D consultancy with Saitou, but who was blacklisted around the same time. Five years ago there was also the enrollment of a Hamada Asukami at the Heidelberg University in the school of business; Hamada was her mother's maiden name.

How long would it have taken for Nixon to dig up this much dirt? Do you do this all day?

Nixon: Be someone's research monkey? Only when they pay me. Speaking of which, I want a raise. This is too much stuff to go through on just 800 Euros.

10 Euros per hour, with a 100 Euro bonus for anything that is of particular use to me.

20 Euros.

Send me a bank account number and you'll receive your installments weekly.

Terrific. So what does particular use mean? Dirty secrets? Nasty pictures? Perhaps you're a little voyeuristic?

Kyouya was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a voyeur. He preferred to know that things worthy of voyeurism existed, turning other people's sins into concrete disadvantages. Well, it wasn't as if blackmail had never appeared in his repertory of tricks. Use your imagination. I expect you'll know it when you see it.

Aye aye.

One more question.

Yeah?

How disinherited is the elder sister?

A long wait while Nixon composed his reply, so Kyouya flipped away to peruse internet papers. When the window began blinking yellow, he turned his attention back on the conversation.

No Saitou money whatsoever is going to her, though there are a couple of off-shore accounts that seem to be linked with distant relatives, who may or may not be helping her. That is unclear. However, there is a recent company memo that suggests she's anathema: no Saitou employee may get close to her and they must all report to higher-ups, whoever they might be, if she is seen around. She must have just come back to the country recently.

So that was why the bodyguard did not accompany Miss Yori to the skating rink. Yet it made no economic sense for her to return if all accounts were frozen to her.

What is she doing back in Japan?

Unclear from the files.

Make it clear. Find out why she left, and why she's come back. Proceed to phase two. Nixon, there's a deeper secret buried in these files. I need to you find something valuable: so valuable that a man would be willing to stake a fortune for it. Or his son, Kyouya thought.

How will I know I've found it?

Kyouya had no idea. Whatever the deal was between his father and the Saitou patriarch, only the two of them knew. Keep a list of potential leads and update me. I'll know it when I see it.

Aye, Captain. Can I call you Captain instead? It suits you so much better than Mother.

Despite himself, Kyouya smirked. Do as you please.

The trawler signed off, leaving Kyouya completely alone in his blue-dampened room. A typical evening, he thought. At his feet, his cat Noel snored gently, his weight warm on Kyouya's toes. He flipped through his bookmarked web pages, checked the Dow, S&P, and the Tokyo indexes, and finished off the last of his tea. Time for bed, he thought, snapping his laptop shut. But he stayed awake despite himself, trying to weigh all the inevitabilities and mysteries against each other. What was his father thinking? What motivated him to go this far in securing Saitou Iwao's cooperation?

He wondered if it had anything to do with the recession. The government had begrudgingly conceded that there was a recession at all only a couple months ago, although austerity measures had been introduced much earlier. The restrictions had slightly hampered their business, but since medical facilities were always necessary, Ootori Medical had kept on keeping on. Ootori International was another story, however; how could one do business if there was no one abroad willing to risk a little something?

His father might have been trying to head off competition by building a impenetrable relationship with a medical machinery developer—but why pick Saitou Corp for that? There were other candidates, even economically stronger ones, and in the prestige-conscious floating world of health services companies, Ootori Medical was definitely the belle of the ball.

What leverage did Saitou Iwao have, that Kyouya's father was so insistent on marrying him off?

He thought for hours and came up with numerous theories, but they were merely that, theories. He had no confirmation for any of it. At least, he comforted himself, the engagement process would make it easier for him to do a little investigating of his own.

It was, however, apparently not to be through Saitou Yori that he found his big break.

A couple days later Kyouya found himself seated at omiai, a luncheon at an exclusive club that featured private rooms for just this purpose. He was dressed to the nines, in a pale linen suit with a dark collared shirt, one of his more flattering outfits. Next to him sat his chaperone—naturally, a distant aunt. Across from his aunt was Yori's chaperone, a fat lady with strident fuschia lipstick. The lady sniffed every time Kyouya adjusted his shirt collar or poured tea. He still had not worked out how the lady was related to Saitou Yori.

It was an awkward lunch, especially given that his future fiancée had taken one look at him and all the blood had evacuated her expression. Saitou Yori was alternately easily startled, like a shy colt, and devastatingly cold, like a block of ice. Questions from Kyouya found polite answers, and she asked only the most tedious and common questions back.

They both agreed cordially that they liked the color blue, that they enjoyed studying abroad in the United States, and that they liked Chopin.

"Kyouya-san is just a year older than you," said his aunt to Miss Saitou.

Miss Saitou smiled and said something very pretty and unconvincing.

"Don't you like being around girls your age?" asked Miss Saitou's chaperone, Ms. Kanashi, suspiciously.

"As much as I like anything," he replied. His aunt, who was wearing stiletto heels, chose that moment to plant her heel on his middle toe. With dangerous intent, it began to sink down. "I've only ever dated girls my age, if that's what you mean," he said in a rush. The heel rose up again.

"Not, of course, that he's dated many girls," said his aunt hurriedly.

Kyouya made a nod of acknowledgement. "I am unversed in dating. Perhaps," he gave a cool, intense smile, "Yori-san can teach me."

"That's Miss Saitou to you!" Ms. Kanashi snapped even as Saitou Yori let her bottom lip drop in surprise. "Don't try any of your funny little tricks here. We've heard of your reputation. In high school you were the leader of a band of immoral young men who tempted young women with your salacious good looks."

"I would hardly call myself the leader," Kyouya said, surprised. "That was my friend Tamaki."

"Nonetheless, it was… it was… a host club!" Ms. Kanashi screeched.

"I'm sure the host club was not inappropriate. I knew a girl who attended one of your events back in the day," Miss Saitou began, until Ms. Kanashi broke in.

"Whether or not the proceedings were appropriate is not the question. The question is of your moral integrity, whether it can compare to that of Miss Saitou. She is the only daughter of the Saitou family and its shining pearl. She will not be besmirched with marriage to an irresponsible playboy!"

Kyouya raised his eyebrows. He had not expected them to lie blatantly to his face, nor had he expected such aggression and name-calling on the first date. The Saitou girl could not meet his gaze. Indeed her hands were trembling. Besides… irresponsible playboy?

Nonetheless, it was his duty to look good and say the right things. If only this fool of a chaperone had not interrupted anything, or the girl were more forthcoming. "Of course," he soothed Miss Kanashi. "I would never dream of subjecting someone so elegant and refined to the crass company of my high school associates." Never mind that his high school associates came from far better families than Saitou Yori herself. "In fact, I believe that you and I have seen each other before, Miss Saitou—a fortuitous accident."

"Really?" she glanced up sharply. The cold mask had reappeared. "No, I don't think we have."

"Oh, were you not at the Meiji Jingu Gaien Ice Skating Rink a few days ago?"

"I was, yesterday. Not a few days ago."

His aunt and Miss Kanashi both grew curious. They had not expected the conversation to turn so quickly.

"Then, my mistake," Kyouya said smoothly. "Of course."

"I have," Saitou Yori said softly, "a very common face. Perhaps you saw someone who looked like me."

"How remarkable, though," said Miss Kanashi, "that you two went to the same skating rink on different days."

"No, not remarkable at all," said Kyouya, sensing that Saitou Yori was protecting her sister. "Not remarkable in the least. There is only one truly good skating rink in town. But likely I have mistaken you for someone else."

Miss Saitou nodded, relieved.

"But I assure you, Miss Saitou," Kyouya said, turning on the charm, "you are anything but common."

The girl breathed sharply, and her pale complexion suddenly flooded with a blush that swelled from the south end of her cheeks all the way up to her hairline. Miss Kanashi made an indecipherable sound. His aunt sipped tea, both hands delicately lifting the cup to hide her mouth, her go-to method to disguise amusement.

To cut the awkward moment short, Kyouya begged leave to go to the bathroom. They granted it to him and he strode off insolently. As soon as he'd turned the corner, he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his burner cell phone. There was one new text: it was a sixteen digit code followed by a hyperlink. In the bathroom he splashed water on his face and patted it off with a towel. Checking all the stalls to make sure he was alone, he pulled out a small tabletphone from his other pocket and typed in the hyperlink, and the password for the downloaded file. It was a plain text file that took him two minutes to read. Nixon has earned his bonus, he thought to himself. It had been almost too long, and he opened the door to head back to his seat—only to find Saitou Yori waiting for him, pigeoned-toed and looking remarkably small.

"Ootori-san," she said, bowing. "I can't explain to you now, but I beg you—please do not mention anything about the girl you saw with me at the rink."

Kyouya let a look of concern appear on his face. "Of course not," he assured her. "A cousin, is she? An adopted sister?"

"A disgrace," Miss Yori said bitterly. "My older sister, you know."

"If you can't explain now, perhaps you will, some time when we can speak more privately?" he flashed what he knew seemed to be a self-deprecating smile at her, and leaned a little closer. "It seems your chaperone is intent on discouraging me."

She stilled, the doe in the headlights look returning. "I suppose."

"Shall I give you my number, or you give me yours?"

"Um," she said, scrambling for a pen in her handbag. "I'll give you mine."

He smiled again, slipping a pen out of his jacket and a fine paper napkin from his pocket. "Quickly," he murmured, "before they get suspicious."

She wrote it so quickly that the last two numbers were written over each other, placed it in his hand, and darted off without a backwards look. Kyouya snorted when he read it, spotting her name written out under the number. As if he would forget whose number it was. He slipped the pen and napkin back into his pocket on his way back to the private room, adjusted his cuffs, and stepped in. Score one for Team Ootori.