The rest of the meal passed without any fanfare. Riza sat there quietly as Bradley rambled incessantly about his business connections and plans. Clearly, he got off on this sort of stuff. The only saving grace was dessert- a small slice of apple pie, juicy and tart with a buttery crust, to Riza's genuine delight.

After the dessert dishes had cleared, Bradley stood up. "Allow me to escort you downstairs and to your carriage. I'm afraid I have somewhere to be."

"Thank you, my lord," Riza said politely. She followed Bradley out of the restaurant and down the stairs of the hotel where, to her surprise, he entered the hotel bar instead of continuing outside towards the carriages.

"There you are, Mustang," Bradley said to one of the few gentlemen at the bar top. "I saw you entering the hotel from the upstairs window. I assume you're Miss Hawkeye's escort?"

Roy set down the glass of whiskey he was entertaining and turned to offer Bradley a proper handshake. "Yes, sir. Master Hawkeye sent me on an errand, but it finished earlier than expected so I decided to enjoy a drink while I waited."

"Please put this gentlemen's drink on my account, the name's King Bradley," Bradley said to the bartender, who eagerly nodded. "Take it as a thank you. It comforts me knowing that Riza did not have to travel in the snow alone."

"Of course, Lord Bradley, it is my pleasure. I'll pass the word along to Master Hawkeye. He sent me into town in the first place."

Bradley then turned to Riza, who was waiting patiently at his side. "I should get going now. I have a business meeting in about half an hour and they can't start without me. Thank you again, Miss Hawkeye," he leaned over and gave Riza a chaste kiss on the cheek. On the way out the door, he turned around, briefly glancing at the young pair, before adjusting his collar and going on his way.

"Give me a second," Roy said as he finished the rest of his drink. "Okay, let's find the carriage. I want to get on the road as soon as possible. It looks like it's going to snow again."

"Of course," Riza said as she followed him out of the bar and through the hotel lobby, keeping an appropriate distance between herself and Roy. "How was your business meeting?"

"Productive," Roy said with a shrug. "But only time will tell if it will turn into a meaningful relationship for your father's company."

"I trust it will," Riza replied softly.

The two climbed into the carriage, pulling back the curtains once the doors were secured, blocking out the outside world and with it, granting them freedom to move closer to each other. Roy's arm slid around Riza's waist and she leaned her nose into the curve of his neck.

"So, tell me all about lunch. How annoying was it?"

"There will be tulips at the wedding," Riza sighed. "Yellow and white to be exact."

"That will be beautiful."

"I guess." Riza pressed her nose deeper into his collarbone. "I honestly don't want to think about it. Can we just enjoy each other's company for a moment?"

Roy agreed, pulling Riza so close that if it wasn't for the fullness of her skirt, she would be directly on his lap. With a content sigh, she entwined her fingers in his own, kissing the soft skin of his neck before closing her eyes and listening to the sounds of the carriage as it continued on down the road.

/-/-/

Master Hawkeye was the definition of a workaholic. Born from a family with respectable lands but a modest title, Berthold had thrown himself into his work at a young age. Industrialization had begun in East City when he was still in school, but by the time he had inherited control of the company from his father, owning factories was the business of choice for all respectable gentlemen. After Berthold's wife had died a premature death, he threw every bit of himself into his work, spending countless hours in his study, analyzing price charts, market sales and anything else that would benefit his budding business.

With this came a rapid expansion of his factories and, for the expenses he could not supply out front, a need for good investors and contacts. Berthold Hawkeye, though a business genius from the viewpoint of any spreadsheet, was not a people person and quickly struggled to make the crucial relationships needed to see his company prosper.

When General Grumman had suggested an apprentice, Berthold had been apprehensive. He had no desire for one, but Grumman managed to convince him that the individual person he had in mind would be the answer to his questions. The boy, Roy Mustang, was the adopted son of a friend in Central. He was charismatic, good-looking and, most importantly, brilliant. The boy sounded almost too perfect, but against Berthold's better judgement, he agreed to meet him.

Roy Mustang had arrived at Hawkeye Manor in his Sunday best, hair falling out of his attempt to style it. Over lunch, it became clear that, aside from being perhaps a tad too confident, Roy was the answer to all of Berthold's questions.

A standard Amestrian apprenticeship is four years in length, beginning sometime between ages 12 and 15. At 14, it was agreed that Roy would live with the Hawkeyes until he became of age, at which point they could negotiate future employment or Roy would be able to venture off on his own. For the next four years, Roy charmed his way to the hearts of every business associate Berthold threw his way. The men thought his intelligence and work ethic were admirable. The women swooned at his good looks and hoped that strong business relationships would foster a personal one. Berthold grew fond of the boy, well, as fond of anyone Berthold could be.

With this apprenticeship came certain privileges. Roy learned the intimate inner workings of the textile industry and enough general knowledge of business to apply to any future job. He learned about raw suppliers, the importance of a healthy and happy labor force and all of the tricky little details that make balancing the books a nightmare. By the end of his apprenticeship, he could have run the company in Berthold's absence without any hesitation.

This familiarity gave Roy exact knowledge on the layout of Berthold's personal financial records, something he never thought he would need until now.

He had snuck in undetected twenty minutes after Berthold had left for a meeting in town. None of the servants would take a second glance at Roy entering the office, but the files Roy was looking for were not ones he needed to fulfill any of his business duties, so he still aired on the side of caution.

The large wooden cabinet in the corner of the room held all of the year-end reports since the Hawkeye business started back in 1862. Shuffling through the rows of paperwork, Roy finally found what he was looking for. With a smile on his face, he pulled out the necessary folders, creating a small pile on the nearby desk. From here he would look for the exact pages he needed before returning everything back into the cabinet, undetected.

"What are you doing?"

The voice startled Roy and he turned around, eyes wide like a cornered animal.

"I said, what are you doing? The cabinet is off limits to everyone except father." Riza stood with her hands on her hips.

Roy could not tell if Riza was genuinely angry or more curious about his answer to her question. "I'm looking for something at your father's request. Besides, what are you doing here? He'd be just as unhappy your wandering into his study without permission"

"I was going to borrow his chess set. He hasn't used it since mom passed, so I doubt he would notice it missing," Riza said, a small blush on her cheek. "You know, for tonight…"

Her answer was almost cute enough for Roy to forget that he was in a compromising situation.

"What are you even looking at?" Riza said, walking over to Roy and ripping the current paperwork out of his hands. "Expense reports? From 1888? What the hell? Why would my father need these?"

"For reference," Roy answered a bit too quickly.

"Why do I feel that's a load of crap?" Riza said.

"It's not."

"So if I mention I helped you find this paperwork at dinner, he would be okay with it?"

He had been found out. With a loud swallow, he looked down at his shoes, too ashamed to meet Riza's gaze.

"Seriously?" Riza gasped, hurt layered in her voice. "You're spying on my father? For who? One of his competitors?"

"No, Riza, it's nothing like that," Roy said. "I promise."

By now, Riza was fuming. She crossed her arms, fists clenched, and stamped her foot on the ground. "Explain this to me now, Roy or so help me-"

"Riza, I promise I'm not working for the competition," Roy said. "I promise. This isn't what you think it is."

"If it's not what I think it is then you would tell me," Riza spat. "I can't believe you!"

"Riza-"

"Stop 'Riza'-ing me! I can't believe you. First, you crush my heart, then you take my virginity and now, you're spying on my father. Is that what all of this was about? Get close enough to our family to rob us of all our information. What the hell? I've been stupid enough to forgive you once. I have no intentions to do so again."

At Riza's accusation that Roy had forged his relationship with her only to betray her, he knew that he had no choice but to explain the entire truth. Maes be damned. His best friend could yell at him for the rest of his life. He had no obligation to help him anyway. This was far outside of his military jurisdiction.

"If I tell you the entire truth, will you believe me when I say that my only intentions were to be a good apprentice? And that everything between you and me is genuine?"

Riza paused for a moment, taking in Roy's mannerism now that he had let his guard down. "Yes. But I want to know everything. I ask a question- any question- and you answer it. Truthfully. Understand?"

"Of course," Roy agreed.

"Well…" Riza gestured to Roy to start explaining, an uncharacteristically impatient look on her face.

"I'm assisting Hughes with a case."

This was nothing close to what Riza expected. Her expression faltered. "The government is investigating my father?"

"No, at least not yet and not officially," Roy said, swallowing his nerves. "A few months ago, one of the senior members of East Command defected from the military. The standard practice is for the Intelligence Department to conduct an audit to assist with preparing the case for court. The military needs to make sure they know what information, if any, the defector stole. We need to know if he is going to be a risk to society. All of this is very important so the department does a thorough job."

Roy paused, providing Riza the opportunity to ask questions. Instead she waved him on, encouraging him to continue.

"A deeper investigation into his factory records showed… suspicious activity… to say the least."

"Suspicious how?"

"The officer in question was of noble blood. It's very common for second and third sons to join the military. They are given a cushy rank in exchange for their family's generous donations, but you already know that. This family, in particular, owns a steel mill. A steel mill that fulfilled the order for 10,000 new rifle parts in the Spring of 1888." Roy looked at Riza, confusion etched on her features. "The Ishvalan Civil War started in the fall of 1888. This factory was the main supplier of weapons throughout the conflict, but that doesn't explain why they were manufacturing for war before it had even started."

"So what does that have to do with my father?" Riza asked seriously.

"Hughes did some digging focused on other rich, notable families with members in the military. It turns out this is not an anomaly. Can I see the paper in your hands?" Riza offered them without hesitation and Roy flipped through the file for a few moments before finding exactly what he was looking for. "Here."

Riza walked over so she was now standing beside Roy and, reading over his shoulder, muttered, "It's a fabric order. I don't get it. My father owns textile factories. Fabric is what he does."

"It's a fabric order for 5,000 white cloaks. White cloaks that were only issued as part of the military uniform in Ishval. They helped to keep our skin out of the sun."

"How can you be so sure? It's just a fabric order, Roy."

"It's not," Roy said. "Hughes has on file that our cloaks were ordered and supplied by Hawkeye Industries, they just never outlined the date these orders started."

"Okay, so my father provided outfits for the military. I don't understand the concern."

"The problem, Riza, is that the cloaks were also ordered in the Spring of 1888. Somehow, somewhere, someone was making large supply orders for a war that had yet to start."

"Oh…" Riza said, now finally grasping the situation. A deep pit settled in her stomach at the haunting reality Roy was beginning to reveal.

"Hughes believes that the government intended for the Civil War to happen all along. Think about it Riza- the Ishvalan War began because an officer shot accidentally shot a child. But what if it wasn't an accident?"

Riza's face had grown pale by now, worry framing her delicate features. "How much evidence do you have to support this theory?"

"Enough," Roy said. "Recently, Hughes discovered that another textile factory, the Archers, were stockpiling gunpowder around the exact same time your father signed the contract for the first 5,000 white cloaks. Why would they need to keep gunpowder in their storage units? But these are not isolated incidents. Every major industry in East City that Hughes has been able to investigate has had one shady business deal or another all in the spring of 1888."

"My father hates the Archers. Why would he conspire against him to help create a war for profit?"

"I thought the same thing. I'm actually double checking these files to see if your father ever did business with the Archers. I was at the academy at the time, so I can't recall."

"And if there is no connection?"

"For the sake of your family that's what I'm hoping for," Roy said seriously. "In actuality, if there's no connection, that may be worse. If these orders are seemingly unrelated, then there is a large chance that all of these companies simply agreed because of the huge payoff it would bring. The military always pays top dollar and always pays in full. It's not an offer most would turn down- besides, unless we start interrogating the business owners themselves, we have no proof they were even aware why the government was ordering what they did."

"So if it's not the business owners, then… someone was willing to arrange an entire war, prepare the Amestrian Military months in advance and manipulate the people to believe a lie. Someone high enough in the military to have this sort of silent influence."

"Like a puppet master pulling the strings."

"Exactly. Hughes isn't certain this occurrence is unique to East City either. In the past twenty years, all four major areas have been in violent conflict one way or another. He's currently in West City, visiting Gracia's family, but he hopes their connections can help him start an investigation there."

"Hmmm," Riza said. She moved away from Roy and sat down in her father's chair. "Promise me you won't do something stupid and make enemies out of someone powerful. I don't want to see you get hurt. Making a target of yourself for the upper brass of the military is not a laughing matter."

"I won't Riza, this is my job."

"It's Maes's job. You're still on medical leave." The worry in her eyes was real.

Roy walked over to where Riza was sitting and knelt down in front of her. With one hand, he stroked her cheek reassuringly. With the other, he grasped her own hand tight. "Riza, I promise. Nothing will happen to me."

"Good." She let out a breath she had been unaware she was holding. "I'd like to believe it is an evil puppet master. My father is a lot of things, mostly negative, but he's not someone who would conspire to send innocent soldiers and civilians to their deaths for a quick buck."

"I know he's not. That's why we are going to get to the bottom of this," Roy said. "I told you, the Ishvalan Civil War was crueler than anything I ever thought I'd witness in my life. It makes sense that a war that terrible would have even worse origins."

"Is there any way I can help?"

"Actually, yes…" Roy said. Although he had not been expecting Riza to offer his assistance, now that the offer was on the table, he realized how valuable it truly was. "We want to get records of Catalina Distilleries from around the same time. I'm not sure what we would be looking for, seeing as the military never orders liquor for their troops, but there are plenty of other things those factories could be used for."

"I can do that," Riza said. "I'll tell Rebecca as little as possible, but I know she will help. You can trust her Roy. I promise. Besides, Rebecca is going to find our little… situation… much more interesting than anything paperwork."

"Good. I'm going off your word for that. There's one more thing, but I don't want you agreeing to it if you're not absolutely certain. The consequences, should you get caught, will be grave."

"Of course, anything."

"We need to investigate Bradley and Company."