"They're late." The gaunt man on the left said.
"Relax, Jean-Claude. Assurances have been made they arrive within the hour. We have a set timetable." The paunchy man on the right said.
Both wore custom tailored black business suits with a gray shirt.
"We had a timetable," the man named Jean-Claude snapped. "It's been thrown out the window. I'll have to stay up an extra three hours into the night clearing up the mess at my desk."
"Is it not better to just savor the moment Jean-Claude?"
"Easy for you to say Luka. You're practically a part time lawyer."
Despite the luxurious surroundings, a lit fireplace, comfortable leather armchairs all the scotch they could drink and a pool table, Jean Claude was completely implacable. And rightly so. He had been promised an audience with the Northwests, not their butlers.
Jean Claude glanced at the butler currently attending to them a few feet behind their chairs.
"Do you think he can understand us?" Jean Claude asked in his proud Parisien French to Luka.
"Je ne sais pas. Best not to test that little theory."
Jean Claude waved a hand at that. "If anything, none of these Americans can speak proper French, let alone comprehend French speech," he said, still keeping the conversation in French. On instinct, Jean Claude glanced once more to the butler behind them and noted that he hadn't changed his expression. Either he has bad ears or bad brains. Jean Claude relaxed in the comfort that their insulting little conversation would have no French speaking audience.
"Gentlemen, I heard that you wanted a word with the Northwests," Pacifica said as she opened the double doors to the room.
Both men arose from their chairs. "Bonjour Miss Pacifica Northwest." Jean Claude smiled as he said the words. "So happy to see you. How have you been?"
Pacifica tried keeping her face straight instead of allowing it to twist in disgust. Ugh, a breathalyzer would be going off even at this distance. "Jean Claude, so nice to see you." She shook his hand very firmly. "Really good actually."
Jean Claude nodded his head. "Tres bien. We were expecting Preston Northwest and not you Miss Pacifica." He took a quick look behind Pacifica. "Did you arrive home with him by any chance? I have a matter of grave importance regarding certain security related events at the firm."
Pacifica gestured towards the butler in the room. "Dipper. Vous pouvez partir."
Dipper nodded and left the room to perform some other duties.
Mon Dieu. L'homme peut comprendre Francias. Jean Claude inwardly scowled at his cowardice for not directly asking.
"Are you here to finally announce your acceptance of my job offer, Miss Pacifica?"
Pacifica put on her best shit eating grin. She wasn't going as some little girl about to accuse someone of wrongdoing. No, she would save that for later, if and when that side of her became relevant. "I'm afraid not Jean Claude. My father would miss me terribly if he were to lose me to a close associate of his."
Jean Claude chuckled in the way only a drunkard could. "That is Preston, always thinking in terms of winning or losing. But look at you," He said, gesturing to Pacifica's severe business attire. A clean and pressed white blouse and black, lint free pencil skirt. "21 years old and fresh out of college. Given the job market out there for young graduates, it's either go back to school or start building your career."
"Don't compare the heiress of the Northwest family to common folk," Pacifica replied, maintaining that unnatural smile of hers.
"I meant no offense by it. But I've heard rumors that your father desperately wants to have you installed in his consulting firm. I'm sure you're tired of his influence."
Luka took another sip of his liquor, barely containing the laughter threatening to erupt from him.
"Thank you for the offer but I have to decline. Actually I came here to discuss the accusations you were about to level at my father about corporate espionage, embezzlement and the recent cyberattacks against his own firm."
In that instant Luka decided to become a fountain that spewed brandy.
"To put it bluntly, yes," Jean Claude, said. Not at all phased by the sudden turn in conversation."It has come to the attention of certain interested parties that recent unfortunate events plaguing NW Consulting can be tied to your father's suspicious activities. Is he here? I think it would be better to discuss these sensitive matters with the owner of the firm and suspected party rather than his daughter."
Pacifica knew how to handle this. She had read the files on the cyberattack purportedly coming from an IP address in Gravity Falls, Oregon at breakneck speed. She had also read the research done on Jean Claude's clients, the next in line for CEO at NW Consulting, one Frederick Boeser. Jean Claude wasn't here to request an explanation; he was coming here to discuss the terms of Preston's resignation either voluntarily or due to the release of scandalous information which would coerce the parent company of NW Consulting to fire Preston. There would be a hefty reward for Jean Claude if he pulled through with this.
Informational asymmetry, Pacifica. You know that they don't know what you know. This was not unlike the time she had sat in as an emergency hiring manager.
She was not terribly nervous. A slight tingling sensation ran all over her skin and she could feel the onset of her breathing pattern changing from and relaxed to almost heaving. There was no turning back now, Pacifica was openly disobeying her father and all she had to rely on to ensure things didn't go to hell was her memory of the enormous pile of materials she had just finished reading, Dipper's voice guiding her from the earpiece she had on her and years of practice making speeches in college.
Pacifica snapped her fingers and the doors to the drawing room creaked open. "Hello gentlemen," said a balding man sporting a maroon suit and red striped tie. The hair on his sides was graying from age but his eyes burned with an inner fire. "My name is Frank Ozanich and I represent the interests of the Northwest family." Mr. Ozanich hobbled over to the little table between Luka and Jean Claude's lush leather chairs and deposited a fat stack of folders with a thump. "Inside the folders you see before you, you'll find all the pertinent papers regarding the incidents you may or may not have mentioned that can be tied back to Preston Northwest."
Jean Claude glared at that stack of papers before scoffing. "I only mentioned general statements regarding the incidents thus far. I doubt that you were able to comb the files of the entire firm for the ones that concern the matter at hand. Luka, if you would."
Luka, chin still dripping with that delectable French brandy, tottered over to the standing parties and stacked sideways on the pile of evidence five very modest in size folders.
Pacifica couldn't help but grin at the contrast in the amount of preparation each party had come with. Mine are bigger than yours, thought Pacifica.
Jean Claude cleared his throat into his bony fist. "If you could fetch your father for me Miss Pacifica I woul-"
Pacifica was already at the stack of folders Luka had presented,
flicking through them with a hand that trembled with both anxiety and anticipation at what she was about to do, what she was about to accomplish. She didn't bother getting too much into the details of the files; the abstracts were good enough in letting her know there was nothing she hadn't already read about in the files Dipper had given her. The only real dirt they may have had on her family was the tracing of the cyberattack to Gravity Falls, Oregon. The damage report of the intrusion had not concluded with anyone being definitively identified as the culprit but anyone could've carried out the intrusion with the right information and a laptop costing less than $1000. I'll just have to have daddy give an alibi for his whereabouts that evening.
"Contrary to what you may believe gentlemen, I do believe that my files should answer all of your questions regarding the incidents you're trying to tie to my father," Pacifica said without turning away from the files. "Let's talk about it."
The story of Jane
Jane von Schneider was lost, both in the mansion and in life. Hours ago, a Northwest servant had been kind enough to escort her out of the gargantuan greenhouse and back to her room so that she could read her book in peace. That lasted five minutes and by then she had finished Voltaire's Candide and wanted something just as stimulating. Unfortunately the enormity of the Northwest manor had gotten the best of her and she was presently struggling to find the silver clad room which she knew for a fact was just around the corner from the library.
As for being lost in life, there would be no help for Jane in that department. From the Northwest servant that had escorted Jane to her room, she had learned that Pacifica was currently handling a very sensitive matter regarding the family's business.
I guess that explains Pacifica's irritable behavior, Jane thought. She has responsibilities, a future with her family's business and has some duty to protect it.
And that's when Jane's thoughts began to turn towards her own family and life. Jonathan was gone, she was presently residing with the Northwests (people whom her family was supposed to hate for reasons only known to Jonathan and forced on her) and was for the most part safe, free of past scars and free to do as she pleased for as long as she wanted at the manor. But she didn't know if that's what she wanted.
As she rounded another corner, Jane instinctively crossed her arms over her chest. She was wearing a heavy sweater and loose fitting jeans, nothing to suggest she had curves, but Jane still felt like eyes were probing her every time she passed a male servant. There was none.
Pacifica has a future commanding these men and running the Northwest business but what do I have? Am I just damaged goods?
For the briefest period in Jane von Schneider's life she truly, and foolishly, believed that her future would be at to live at the Northwest mansion with Dipper as her guardian. She had found a savior from Jonathan, a reprieve from the nightmare of endless abuse and torture. But after her discovery of Dipper's true form, she just couldn't see that happening. Those bulging biceps of his which had strangled her brother and once made her heart flutter now made her cringe with fear, of what they were capable of, of what they had possibly done to others who had not deserved it. And that dreadful fire that enveloped everything he touched, consuming his skin and flesh until he didn't resemble a man at all, but a blackened demon.
It was of no consequence. Jane von Schneider knew the truth. Demons were abundant in the Northwest Mansion, it seemed. Bill Cipher and Dipper the butler, both unruly killers willing to maim and torture anyone who got in their way, including each other, were not to be trifled with. She had to escape. Warning the Northwests and Pacifica would be futile as she so readily saw with Maria the maid.
Jane von Schneider thought it over and remembered the vast fortune the von Schneider's were supposed to have. She had never managed it; Jonathan was the keeper and manager of both Jane and the von Schneider fortune. Whenever it was decided that they needed a new penthouse, Jonathan would buy it. Whenever the office called, Jonathan would answer it and punch Jane if she ever dared an attempt at picking up the phone. If it was decided she needed new clothes or undergarments Jonathan would choose the most ill fitting and drab ones from some store and leave it on her bed.
With Jonathan out of the picture… Suddenly, Jane came to the realization that she was much freer than she had previously thought. All that power and money Jonathan supposedly had was now partially accessible to her if she could find a way to get in contact with it. She would have to go through mountains of paperwork and seek legal counsel, but, with tenacity, she could have the control she so desperately needed. Escape was possible and she needed only to finance her way out of it with money she already owned.
Finally, Jane had made it to the library. Looking up at the vast columns of books and the spiral staircases to reach them from their lofty position, Jane tossed Candide onto a reading table and started walking over to the drawing room. Obviously, she wasn't going to risk death by falling for some book. All the popular and interesting reads were more easily accessible in the drawing room next door, probably for the courtesy of the guests.
That's when she heard a familiar voice.
"Si vous pouvez le faire. Je voudrais le regarder."
No. It couldn't be, Jane thought. Her mind was returning back to her time with Jonathan. Images of whips and worn leather restraints came flashing back to her. Demons came in many forms but this one was definitely human.
She peeked through the open door of the drawing room just enough for the top of her head. Her long hair, however, made it quite apparent that someone was watching the group inside.
"Ca va bien comme ca."
He was speaking French but she remembered the voice of that fat bastard in any language. The cold sweat on her forehead was catching her platinum blonde hair.
It was all coming back to her in waves. Her knees were beginning to buckle and threatened to leave her a mess on the floor.
"Would you kindly allow me the pleasure?"
"Would you kindly give this to him?"
"Would you kindly buck your hips more?"
"Would you kindly put these garments on? I especially chose them out for you?"
"Plus fort, s'il vous plait!"
"Would you kindly?"
"Would you kindly?"
"Would you kindly? Would you kindly? Would you kindly? Would you kindly? Would you kindly? Would you kindly? Would you kindly? Would you kindly? Would you kindly? Would you kindly? Would you kindly? Would you kindly? Would you kindly? Would you kindly? Would you kindly? Would you kindly? Would you kindly? Would you kindly? Would you kindly? Would you kindly?"
"Would you kindly lower your voice? I'm videotaping your special moment for some friends and I'm afraid they're not into screamers."
Luka Müller.The name echoed inside Jane's head. By degrees, Jane had regained control of her legs and her sweat. Her breathing had slowed and her grip on the open heavy grain wooden door loosened, leaving behind smears of her sweat.
My name is Jane, she thought, pausing to breathe. I'm not there anymore. Jonathan is gone. I am safe.
She gazed at Luka sitting in his comfy leather chair next to the fireplace. She wondered how comfy he would be if she kicked the fat folds on his neck until they were flat. One step at a time, Jane approached Luka with a cold intensity in her eyes. It didn't matter that Pacifica was there chatting with two skinny dudes in suits. It didn't matter that they had a slide show going on with a picture of a Cayman Island office on screen. Luka was her intended target. Or it would be if a hand hadn't been placed over her mouth. She started to scream but that was no use. The hand was gloved and muffled the noise. Everyone else was far too busy paying attention to the slides on the projection screen and Pacifica's confident voice.
Jane fought against her captor: stepping on their toes and elbowing their ribs. Then a curious thing happened. What felt like ropes to Jane began encircling her limbs and restraining her every movement.
She fought with every ounce of rage induced strength her body could muster, but it wasn't enough. Her vision went black and she could feel herself being dragged off. In her mind, she imagined a car waiting for her and her captor, probably Jonathan, outside the mansion, ready to whisk her off and away from her one and only refuge.
I'm not going back! I am not going back to that hellhole! Fuck you Jonathan.
Ending
"So as you can see gentlemen. This is all really a big misunderstanding. The embezzlement was simply a mishandling of money that was supposed to go to outsourced work headquartered in the Cayman Islands. The cyber attacks on the firm were still very much the fault of my father but only because a lack of vigilance in verifying his emails made him fall for a phishing scam. Even then, about a dozen other employees with the same access to the client's information were compromised and led to the wider and more problematic cyber attacks that plagued us 8 months ago. In the folders I've just given you, you will find a fully updated damage report on the cyber attacks including information on the exact source of the hacks and the exact client files which were accessed during the cyber attacks and led to the leak. I've also taken the liberty of including my personal recommendations on how to reorganize the most vulnerable aspects of Northwest's Consulting's cyber security as well as a new training module to increase awareness of phishing emails among employees."
Pacifica stood up and walked over to the light switch to once again illuminate the dark room. She had just finished the powerpoint presentation and it would no one any good keep everyone in the dark. She liked what she saw. The guests in the room were slack-jawed. Surprise and apprehension painted both Jean Claude and Luka's faces.
Looks like someone isn't getting paid.
Pacifica looked to Mr. Ozanich. They shared a nod, knowing full well what they just accomplished.
This was an unofficial meeting, an informal discussion, a meeting between two interested parties to discuss a very private matter behind closed doors. But Pacifica knew what she wrought. The evidence her father had compiled and she presented was solid and there wasn't a single bloody thing they could say to get anymore out of her family. In short, there was nothing left to discuss.
"Jean Claude if you'll excuse me I must step out to use the bathroom for just a moment."
"Two doors down to the right," Pacifica said as Luka shuffled out. Then she turned her attention to Jean Claude. His eyes were bloodshot and wide open. Probably from both the brandy and the whirlwind presentation. So many facts and so little time; Pacifica felt like she was on fire. Jean Claude looked like he might throw up.
Go on Jean Claude. Say that you needed to my father again for a very private matter concerning Northwest Consulting. Pretend that this information has no relevance to what you were going to see my father about and offer to wait a little while longer for their return. Pacifica continued to wait.
Finally, Jean Claude coughed into his fist before making a very cursory glance at his Rolex watch. "That was…uh…very interesting Miss Pacifica. Unfortunately, my time has run out and it seems I'm late for another appointment."
No you're not.
"I'll just have to reschedule that meeting with your father some other time. Miss Pacifica. I bid you bon nuit." And with that, Jean Claude stood up, scooped up the files that were his and Luka's from the pile on the small table, between the two leather chairs and began making his way to the door.
"Do you want to tell my butler about scheduling that meeting? He's very capable and knows my father's schedule much better than me," Pacifica said.
It took a good ten seconds for Jean Claude to properly answer her question. "No that won't be necessary. Besides, I'm already short on time as it is."
Mr. Ozanich arose and walked over to Jean Claude. "If you have any further questions regarding the Northwests and the information presented you can contact me," he said, handing Jean Claude a crisp business card.
Jean Claude sighed. "Thanks," he said and walked out of the drawing room at a brisk stride.
"I hope to see you at the annual Northwest ball!" Pacifica called out.
Once Jean Claude had left and the two remaining in the drawing room were absolutely certain no one could hear them, Mr. Ozanich broke out in a fit of giggles. Pacifica herself was grinning from ear to ear.
"Mr. Ozanich this is highly unprofessional. You can't giggle when you're still at work," Pacifica said.
Mr. Ozanich continued to giggle like a little girl. "Oh let it be. These old bones hardly get a kick out of work nowadays."
Pacifica looked back at the fat stack of files still on the table. "Do you have copies of all the files there?"
"Yes, yes." He swatted away the question. "I just need a few of the original documents for my records."
"Do you think you could give the rest of the files to Dipper so he could have them sorted?" She said just as he was leaving for the door with the files in hand.
"Not your secretary." Mr. Ozanich's voice echoed throughout the hallway as he hobbled out of the room faster than a hedgehog.
Fine. I'll just have to get Dipper in here for that.
Wooohooo!
I am not sure how I wrote this chapter. It came in pieces of imagination, then globs, then a waterfall. I have to wonder, how would a business man react to a deal he was to personally handle only for someone else to handle it. Your inexperienced daughter, mind you. Wink-wink.