Chapter 9
Lt. Roger Smith's disenchantment with his career had not abated, despite the distinct improvement in his private life. He often spoke with Major Dastun about this. Smith admired and respected his superior officer greatly for his integrity and sense of justice. He was also deeply grateful for the introduction to Daestar.
Nevertheless, Lt. Smith ws sick of the politicalizing and corruption in the upper ranks of the Military Police. Since they worked hand in glove with the ruling class of Paradigm, very little could be effectively ascomplished without their inplicit approval. This rankled Dastun too, but he was too much a company man. He wanted to stem the tide of rot from within. Besides, Dastun felt he himself was too old to start over. Roger was still young and foolhardy enough to risk his career.
Major Dastun was very concerned about his lieutenant's unhappiness. He really understood Smith's point of view, but felt deserting the Military Police would only add to the problem. He also warned the young man that the paths followed by most ex-officers were even dirtier: "You either become a P.I. and disturb people's lives, or you work for some legal firm and destroy people's lives."
Dastun finally shared his concerns with Rowan, hoping she'd talk some sense into the young man. She suggested that perhaps a temporary career change via a leave of absence wouldn't be such a bad idea. It would give Smith something to compare his current situation with.
Dastun mulled that one over. He knew he couldn't force his young lieutenant to stay, so, he reasoned "...maybe once Roger sees how lousy everything else is, being a cop will start looking good again." He agreed to the temporary leave.
What Dastun didn't know yet was that his "niece" had offered Roger Smith an apprenticeship. Smith had already accompanied her as an observer during several negotiations of varying complexity and risk. Roger found the whole intellectual process fascinating. He liked the freedon it offered on so many levels: clientele, fees, time, and creativity. There were just three rules that Daestar insisted were sacrosanct:
1) Remain impersonal. The negotiator's only job is to arrange an acceptible agreement between the parties concerned.
2) See every job through with honor and to the best of your ability.
3) Dress with authority, not flash. YOU are not the center of attention. The client is. In addition (advice given her by Dastun when she first started in the business) wear gloves. You do NOT want your fingerprints on anything that could be potentially incriminating in the future.
All in all, "negotiator" was a far better fit for Roger's talents and personality than "Military Police officer." Daestar was soon introducing Smith as her associate. She let him take the lead in smaller cases, while she stayed in the background as a senior consultant. Roger soon shared her reputation as being tough yet fair-mined. It turned out to be an excellent partnership.
Despite this success, Smith found himself a little reluctant to quit the Military Police. Some of this was because of his personal loyalty to Dan Dastun. Also, everything was happening so fast, maybe too fast. His common sense told him to be cautious. So far, despite his increased income, his sole indulgence had been several beautifully tailored suits in black and dark grey. He had even kept his old apartment, dispite his moving in with Rowan. Everything else was banked.
More importantly, Roger did not want to ride on anyone else's coattails. His male ego would not allow that. He needed to be sure that he could do this on his own terms. The opportunity to prove himself came up sooner than he'd expected.
**************************
Rowan Daestar's services had been solicitated by someone from the Paradigm Group, but in her capacity as a physician, not a negotiator. She told Roger that she would be out of town and out of reach for two days.She had only one request: that he take on any cases that came up in her absense.
Roger shrugged but agreed. Things had been rather quiet in town the last week, so he really didn't expect any calls. He planned to spend the next couple of days expanding on a series of chalk studies he'd drawn of Rowan. He wanted to paint her, but couldn't quite decide on how.
Later that afternoon, as he was going through his sketches, the answering service called. Roger nearly fell over when the service gave him the names of the would-be clients.
The Van der Arcs and the Mooneys respectively controlled two of Paradigm's most powerful and best-known family-run companies. Both were as famous (or infamous) for being difficult to deal with as they were for their extraordinary wealth.
They had been feuding for decades, almost as far back as the Great Event that had wiped out the population's collective memories. Both families claimed a fairly confused ownership of secret formulas vital to the existence of their respective companies. What made the whole thing so crazy was that they were not competitors.
They made totally different products - the only crossover was in the manufacturing process itself. Despite that, they had been dragging each other into the courts (and sometimes the streets) for as long as anyone could remember. There had even been a duel to the death at one point.
The only ones profiting from all this were gossip columnists and lawyers. Finally one judge had had enough. She had ordered both sides to go to a negotiator. The firm of Daestar and Smith had been highly recommended.
Roger Smith agreed to a meeting the following morning at Rowan's home office (the little brass plate now bore both their names.) He decided to go out and do some research.
There had been an informant Roger had found useful in the past, although he rarely used him. Dastun didn't like paid snitches. Of course, this wasn't a police matter, so Smith decided to do whatever he felt was reasonable.
There was a fairly popular neighborhood tavern the guy would hang out at. Roger sauntered in, quickly perused the smoky interior and spotted his quarry.
As usual, the dignified fiftyish man was quietly reading a newspaper. He was wearing his customary headphones, listening to who knew what (Roger suspected it was a ruse to let him eavesdrop unnoticed) and nursing a large whiskey.
The young man purchased a bottled beer, than nonchalantly sat down next to his target. The bearded older man turned the page of his paper. Without looking at Smith, he quietly addressed him; "Didn't expect to see you here anymore. Thought your boss didn't approve...or are you just slumming?"
Smith took a swig of his beer before answering. "I'm not here on police business, Big Ear. I need some information." He discreetly slipped a stack of twenties onto the table. The newspaper fell on top of them and was folded in half as the older man turned to a different section. Magically the bills were gone when he lifted the paper to continue reading. "It's nice to know you respect what your elders can do for you...what do you need to know?"
Roger leaned back in his chair, played with his beer bottle. "I assume you've heard of the Mooney/Van der Arc mess. What can you tell me about these people?"
"Well," said Big Ear, "aside from the fact they have way too much time and money at their disposal...I'd say that since Jake Mooney Jr. and Lara Van der Arc are the sole heirs for each family, and they do seem to travel in the same social circles - you might want to start with them.
Smith finished his beer. "Thanks," he said as he left. "If this works out I'll be back."
Roger Smith then headed to the offices of the Paradigm Press (true to their motto, "we never sleep," they operated 24/7) and read through all the archival material he could find. He concentrated on the business and society sections. The young negotiator noticed that despite the long-standing rancor between the families' older members, the youngest generation (it was hard for Roger to accept that they were his contemporaries...their privileged lives made them seem so juvenile) apeared to get on nicely. If the rumors printed in the gossip columns were correct, Mr. Mooney Jr. and Miss Van der Arc were getting on almost too nicely. Roger got an idea. It was almost crazy enough to work.
The next day dawned grey as usual. Preparing himself for that morning's meeting, Roger mentally ran through all his facts, and more importantly, his hunches about his clients.
Business disputes were bad, but could usually be solved if enough money got thrown at them. Personal quarrels were another story entirely, but enough therapy and distance generally kept these under control as well. This mess was both. Roger's well-honed instincts as a police officer would have to guide him.
Before using the secret office entrance, Smith straightened his sober tie, put on his black leather gloves, and passed a comb through his sleekly perfect hair one last time. Grooming almost always calmed Roger's nerves. He went into the quiet office, sat down behind the massive desk, and waited.
Norman Berg had agreed to take the morning off from teaching to pinch-hit as Roger's secretary, something he would also do for Rowan on occassion. He played his role perfectly, showing in six people with appropriate ceremony and directing them to a double row of elegant chairs facing the great desk. Only momentarily distracted by the sumptousness of the room, the four older clients seated themselves in the first row and promptly fell to squabbling.
Jake Mooney Jr. and Lara Van dr Arc huddled together in the second row, looking extremely distressed.
Ignored, Roger Smith studied his new clients. Ruddy-faced Jake Mooney Sr.; his ex-beauty queen wife Florrie; pale, lanky Thomas Van der Arc; his fleshly spouse Irene...they were the top of Paradigm society. As Dan Dastun said, reflected Roger, scum, like cream, rose to the top. Despite their money, connections, so-called breeding - their situation was no different from the petty (and often dangerous) domestic situations Roger has handled as a cop. At least he wouldn't have to worry about being shot. Norman had discreetly swept them for weapons before letting them in. Well, Smith said to himself, it's showtime.
Roger started to speak. The Van der Arcs and the Mooneys continued to bicker, totally oblivious. He cleared his throat loudly, to no avail. Finally he stuck two gloved fingers in his nouth and whistled loudly, once.
That got their attention. Regaining his composure, Roger began again, speaking with all the serenity he could muster: "Ladies...gentlemen...I am Roger Smith. My only purpose is to help you find a mutually agreeable solution."
He got out of his chair, walked in front of the desk and stood there with his hands in his pockets. The golden mural behind him framed his impressive black-suited form with a kind of glow, making him seem even taller than his six and a half feet. His demeanor was cool, relaxed, and in control.
The cream of Paradigm society was totally cowed.
Roger realized that he'd have to be quick now tht he had their full attention. Their ability to concentrate on anything other than themselves was woefully limited.
Gazing sternly, he began: "I realize that you are all here under duress. However,' Roger held up his black-gloved hand to silence Mooney Sr (who'd barely opened his mouth) "...however, this disagreement of yours has become an intolerable burden, not only to your families but to the larger society as well.
"On a personal level you have succeeded only in harming your own families." The handsome young negotiator turned towards Thomas Van der Arc. "Your brother Timothy died in a duel over this." The sixtyish man nodded vigorously, then turned to face the Mooney clan. He pointed one bloodless perfectly manicured finger at them and yelled, "Your uncle murdered my brother, you bastards!" He started to get out of his chair.
"You will sit down NOW, Mr. Van der Arc." Smith spoke firmly, as if telling a dog to heel. It worked like the proverbial charm. The skinny man sat. He looked quite shocked.
Smith waited a beat, then continued, "Sir, you have proven my point. Your brother dead, Mr. Mooney's uncle jailed for life, various family members ruining their lives in the pursuit of revenge. This is not promoting the welfare of eithr family. Correct?"
His unreadable black eyes swept across the six people seated before him. They all nodded in unison. Excellent, thought Roger, it's all going okay so far. Now to get beyond the private good to the public good.
"Now, regarding the memories you both claim ownership of. First, I understand that the methods or formulas they contain are considered highly classified. The court has ruled that such information must remain strictly concealed. This means there is no way for an outsider (such as myself) to figure out who actually owns what portion of this property." That was simple enough, thought Roger.
"Second, this information is vital for both your companies to operate. Third, you manufacture two totally different products, both of which are needed for the proper operation of a third item which neither of you have any involvement with. Correct?"
Again, six heads nodded in agreement. This is too easy, went the little voice in Roger's head - now for the kill.
Smith continued: "Your continued litigation over who gets to use what is crippling this third industry, because you are interrupting their supply flow. This in turn is affecting thousands of innocent bystanders, from the workers building it to the consumers buying it. You are tying up the courts, delaying justice for people who don't have the money for a high-priced lawyer. At the very least you are building ill-will towards both your firms, so you are ruining your businesses as well. This is hardly the action of a good CEO, is it?" Whew, thought Roger...hope I didn't lose them with THAT.
Mooney Sr. looked down at his lap in embarressment, his already florid face deepening in color. "I guess...I guess I never thought of it that way before." He took his wife's beringed hand in his and squeezed it til she winced. "Oh, Florrie, we've been so stupid," he whimpered. Tears actually started dripping down his face. He yanked at his pocket handkerchief and blew his nose noisily.
Thomas Van der Arc didn't look quite so covinced. His foot was tapping furiously. Two bright red spots appeared on his ashy cheeks. His watery blue eyes glared at Smith.
The negotiator, unfazed, met his gaze and asked if he (Van der Arc) wished to share his thoughts.
The older man leaped to his feet. "You'e a fraud, Mr. Smith! I thought you were supposed to negotiate a settlement so my family doesn't have to hand our property over to these, these...these strangers! These memories are the birthright of MY family and I, WE are not sharing with THEM! Hmpf!" He sat back down, tightly crossing his arms and legs.
Mrs. Mooney grimaced at this performance. She started muttering under her breath.
"What did you call me?" cried out Irene Van der Arc, her chins quivering. Suddenly the small room was filled with enraged clamoring.
The son and daughter, seated behind their illustrious parents, cringed, looking first at each other and than at Roger in dismay. The negotiator, for his part, was somewhat taken aback by his miscalculation, but quickly realized what he'd have to do. He would have to play his hunch.
"ENOUGH!" Smith roared, placing himself bodily between the warring factions. He glared the four of them into silence.
"I have a settlement to propose," he said, keeping his irritation out of his voice (he felt like slapping them all.) He walked over to Jake Jr. and Lara. Roger had noticed they'd been holding hands throughout most of the meeting. He was pretty sure they had no interest in continuing the feud.
Smith looked down at the pair (god, do I look that young? he wondered.) He spoke briefly with them in a low voice, his body blocking their reaction from their parents' view. They smiled happily at his words. Relieved, Roger positioned himself behind their chairs, his gloved hands resting lightly on their shoulders.
"Well?' queried the senior Van der Arc. "Yeah," chimed in the elder Mooney, "What's the deal?"
Roger allowed himself a brief smirk. "I propose a merger."
Lt. Roger Smith's disenchantment with his career had not abated, despite the distinct improvement in his private life. He often spoke with Major Dastun about this. Smith admired and respected his superior officer greatly for his integrity and sense of justice. He was also deeply grateful for the introduction to Daestar.
Nevertheless, Lt. Smith ws sick of the politicalizing and corruption in the upper ranks of the Military Police. Since they worked hand in glove with the ruling class of Paradigm, very little could be effectively ascomplished without their inplicit approval. This rankled Dastun too, but he was too much a company man. He wanted to stem the tide of rot from within. Besides, Dastun felt he himself was too old to start over. Roger was still young and foolhardy enough to risk his career.
Major Dastun was very concerned about his lieutenant's unhappiness. He really understood Smith's point of view, but felt deserting the Military Police would only add to the problem. He also warned the young man that the paths followed by most ex-officers were even dirtier: "You either become a P.I. and disturb people's lives, or you work for some legal firm and destroy people's lives."
Dastun finally shared his concerns with Rowan, hoping she'd talk some sense into the young man. She suggested that perhaps a temporary career change via a leave of absence wouldn't be such a bad idea. It would give Smith something to compare his current situation with.
Dastun mulled that one over. He knew he couldn't force his young lieutenant to stay, so, he reasoned "...maybe once Roger sees how lousy everything else is, being a cop will start looking good again." He agreed to the temporary leave.
What Dastun didn't know yet was that his "niece" had offered Roger Smith an apprenticeship. Smith had already accompanied her as an observer during several negotiations of varying complexity and risk. Roger found the whole intellectual process fascinating. He liked the freedon it offered on so many levels: clientele, fees, time, and creativity. There were just three rules that Daestar insisted were sacrosanct:
1) Remain impersonal. The negotiator's only job is to arrange an acceptible agreement between the parties concerned.
2) See every job through with honor and to the best of your ability.
3) Dress with authority, not flash. YOU are not the center of attention. The client is. In addition (advice given her by Dastun when she first started in the business) wear gloves. You do NOT want your fingerprints on anything that could be potentially incriminating in the future.
All in all, "negotiator" was a far better fit for Roger's talents and personality than "Military Police officer." Daestar was soon introducing Smith as her associate. She let him take the lead in smaller cases, while she stayed in the background as a senior consultant. Roger soon shared her reputation as being tough yet fair-mined. It turned out to be an excellent partnership.
Despite this success, Smith found himself a little reluctant to quit the Military Police. Some of this was because of his personal loyalty to Dan Dastun. Also, everything was happening so fast, maybe too fast. His common sense told him to be cautious. So far, despite his increased income, his sole indulgence had been several beautifully tailored suits in black and dark grey. He had even kept his old apartment, dispite his moving in with Rowan. Everything else was banked.
More importantly, Roger did not want to ride on anyone else's coattails. His male ego would not allow that. He needed to be sure that he could do this on his own terms. The opportunity to prove himself came up sooner than he'd expected.
**************************
Rowan Daestar's services had been solicitated by someone from the Paradigm Group, but in her capacity as a physician, not a negotiator. She told Roger that she would be out of town and out of reach for two days.She had only one request: that he take on any cases that came up in her absense.
Roger shrugged but agreed. Things had been rather quiet in town the last week, so he really didn't expect any calls. He planned to spend the next couple of days expanding on a series of chalk studies he'd drawn of Rowan. He wanted to paint her, but couldn't quite decide on how.
Later that afternoon, as he was going through his sketches, the answering service called. Roger nearly fell over when the service gave him the names of the would-be clients.
The Van der Arcs and the Mooneys respectively controlled two of Paradigm's most powerful and best-known family-run companies. Both were as famous (or infamous) for being difficult to deal with as they were for their extraordinary wealth.
They had been feuding for decades, almost as far back as the Great Event that had wiped out the population's collective memories. Both families claimed a fairly confused ownership of secret formulas vital to the existence of their respective companies. What made the whole thing so crazy was that they were not competitors.
They made totally different products - the only crossover was in the manufacturing process itself. Despite that, they had been dragging each other into the courts (and sometimes the streets) for as long as anyone could remember. There had even been a duel to the death at one point.
The only ones profiting from all this were gossip columnists and lawyers. Finally one judge had had enough. She had ordered both sides to go to a negotiator. The firm of Daestar and Smith had been highly recommended.
Roger Smith agreed to a meeting the following morning at Rowan's home office (the little brass plate now bore both their names.) He decided to go out and do some research.
There had been an informant Roger had found useful in the past, although he rarely used him. Dastun didn't like paid snitches. Of course, this wasn't a police matter, so Smith decided to do whatever he felt was reasonable.
There was a fairly popular neighborhood tavern the guy would hang out at. Roger sauntered in, quickly perused the smoky interior and spotted his quarry.
As usual, the dignified fiftyish man was quietly reading a newspaper. He was wearing his customary headphones, listening to who knew what (Roger suspected it was a ruse to let him eavesdrop unnoticed) and nursing a large whiskey.
The young man purchased a bottled beer, than nonchalantly sat down next to his target. The bearded older man turned the page of his paper. Without looking at Smith, he quietly addressed him; "Didn't expect to see you here anymore. Thought your boss didn't approve...or are you just slumming?"
Smith took a swig of his beer before answering. "I'm not here on police business, Big Ear. I need some information." He discreetly slipped a stack of twenties onto the table. The newspaper fell on top of them and was folded in half as the older man turned to a different section. Magically the bills were gone when he lifted the paper to continue reading. "It's nice to know you respect what your elders can do for you...what do you need to know?"
Roger leaned back in his chair, played with his beer bottle. "I assume you've heard of the Mooney/Van der Arc mess. What can you tell me about these people?"
"Well," said Big Ear, "aside from the fact they have way too much time and money at their disposal...I'd say that since Jake Mooney Jr. and Lara Van der Arc are the sole heirs for each family, and they do seem to travel in the same social circles - you might want to start with them.
Smith finished his beer. "Thanks," he said as he left. "If this works out I'll be back."
Roger Smith then headed to the offices of the Paradigm Press (true to their motto, "we never sleep," they operated 24/7) and read through all the archival material he could find. He concentrated on the business and society sections. The young negotiator noticed that despite the long-standing rancor between the families' older members, the youngest generation (it was hard for Roger to accept that they were his contemporaries...their privileged lives made them seem so juvenile) apeared to get on nicely. If the rumors printed in the gossip columns were correct, Mr. Mooney Jr. and Miss Van der Arc were getting on almost too nicely. Roger got an idea. It was almost crazy enough to work.
The next day dawned grey as usual. Preparing himself for that morning's meeting, Roger mentally ran through all his facts, and more importantly, his hunches about his clients.
Business disputes were bad, but could usually be solved if enough money got thrown at them. Personal quarrels were another story entirely, but enough therapy and distance generally kept these under control as well. This mess was both. Roger's well-honed instincts as a police officer would have to guide him.
Before using the secret office entrance, Smith straightened his sober tie, put on his black leather gloves, and passed a comb through his sleekly perfect hair one last time. Grooming almost always calmed Roger's nerves. He went into the quiet office, sat down behind the massive desk, and waited.
Norman Berg had agreed to take the morning off from teaching to pinch-hit as Roger's secretary, something he would also do for Rowan on occassion. He played his role perfectly, showing in six people with appropriate ceremony and directing them to a double row of elegant chairs facing the great desk. Only momentarily distracted by the sumptousness of the room, the four older clients seated themselves in the first row and promptly fell to squabbling.
Jake Mooney Jr. and Lara Van dr Arc huddled together in the second row, looking extremely distressed.
Ignored, Roger Smith studied his new clients. Ruddy-faced Jake Mooney Sr.; his ex-beauty queen wife Florrie; pale, lanky Thomas Van der Arc; his fleshly spouse Irene...they were the top of Paradigm society. As Dan Dastun said, reflected Roger, scum, like cream, rose to the top. Despite their money, connections, so-called breeding - their situation was no different from the petty (and often dangerous) domestic situations Roger has handled as a cop. At least he wouldn't have to worry about being shot. Norman had discreetly swept them for weapons before letting them in. Well, Smith said to himself, it's showtime.
Roger started to speak. The Van der Arcs and the Mooneys continued to bicker, totally oblivious. He cleared his throat loudly, to no avail. Finally he stuck two gloved fingers in his nouth and whistled loudly, once.
That got their attention. Regaining his composure, Roger began again, speaking with all the serenity he could muster: "Ladies...gentlemen...I am Roger Smith. My only purpose is to help you find a mutually agreeable solution."
He got out of his chair, walked in front of the desk and stood there with his hands in his pockets. The golden mural behind him framed his impressive black-suited form with a kind of glow, making him seem even taller than his six and a half feet. His demeanor was cool, relaxed, and in control.
The cream of Paradigm society was totally cowed.
Roger realized that he'd have to be quick now tht he had their full attention. Their ability to concentrate on anything other than themselves was woefully limited.
Gazing sternly, he began: "I realize that you are all here under duress. However,' Roger held up his black-gloved hand to silence Mooney Sr (who'd barely opened his mouth) "...however, this disagreement of yours has become an intolerable burden, not only to your families but to the larger society as well.
"On a personal level you have succeeded only in harming your own families." The handsome young negotiator turned towards Thomas Van der Arc. "Your brother Timothy died in a duel over this." The sixtyish man nodded vigorously, then turned to face the Mooney clan. He pointed one bloodless perfectly manicured finger at them and yelled, "Your uncle murdered my brother, you bastards!" He started to get out of his chair.
"You will sit down NOW, Mr. Van der Arc." Smith spoke firmly, as if telling a dog to heel. It worked like the proverbial charm. The skinny man sat. He looked quite shocked.
Smith waited a beat, then continued, "Sir, you have proven my point. Your brother dead, Mr. Mooney's uncle jailed for life, various family members ruining their lives in the pursuit of revenge. This is not promoting the welfare of eithr family. Correct?"
His unreadable black eyes swept across the six people seated before him. They all nodded in unison. Excellent, thought Roger, it's all going okay so far. Now to get beyond the private good to the public good.
"Now, regarding the memories you both claim ownership of. First, I understand that the methods or formulas they contain are considered highly classified. The court has ruled that such information must remain strictly concealed. This means there is no way for an outsider (such as myself) to figure out who actually owns what portion of this property." That was simple enough, thought Roger.
"Second, this information is vital for both your companies to operate. Third, you manufacture two totally different products, both of which are needed for the proper operation of a third item which neither of you have any involvement with. Correct?"
Again, six heads nodded in agreement. This is too easy, went the little voice in Roger's head - now for the kill.
Smith continued: "Your continued litigation over who gets to use what is crippling this third industry, because you are interrupting their supply flow. This in turn is affecting thousands of innocent bystanders, from the workers building it to the consumers buying it. You are tying up the courts, delaying justice for people who don't have the money for a high-priced lawyer. At the very least you are building ill-will towards both your firms, so you are ruining your businesses as well. This is hardly the action of a good CEO, is it?" Whew, thought Roger...hope I didn't lose them with THAT.
Mooney Sr. looked down at his lap in embarressment, his already florid face deepening in color. "I guess...I guess I never thought of it that way before." He took his wife's beringed hand in his and squeezed it til she winced. "Oh, Florrie, we've been so stupid," he whimpered. Tears actually started dripping down his face. He yanked at his pocket handkerchief and blew his nose noisily.
Thomas Van der Arc didn't look quite so covinced. His foot was tapping furiously. Two bright red spots appeared on his ashy cheeks. His watery blue eyes glared at Smith.
The negotiator, unfazed, met his gaze and asked if he (Van der Arc) wished to share his thoughts.
The older man leaped to his feet. "You'e a fraud, Mr. Smith! I thought you were supposed to negotiate a settlement so my family doesn't have to hand our property over to these, these...these strangers! These memories are the birthright of MY family and I, WE are not sharing with THEM! Hmpf!" He sat back down, tightly crossing his arms and legs.
Mrs. Mooney grimaced at this performance. She started muttering under her breath.
"What did you call me?" cried out Irene Van der Arc, her chins quivering. Suddenly the small room was filled with enraged clamoring.
The son and daughter, seated behind their illustrious parents, cringed, looking first at each other and than at Roger in dismay. The negotiator, for his part, was somewhat taken aback by his miscalculation, but quickly realized what he'd have to do. He would have to play his hunch.
"ENOUGH!" Smith roared, placing himself bodily between the warring factions. He glared the four of them into silence.
"I have a settlement to propose," he said, keeping his irritation out of his voice (he felt like slapping them all.) He walked over to Jake Jr. and Lara. Roger had noticed they'd been holding hands throughout most of the meeting. He was pretty sure they had no interest in continuing the feud.
Smith looked down at the pair (god, do I look that young? he wondered.) He spoke briefly with them in a low voice, his body blocking their reaction from their parents' view. They smiled happily at his words. Relieved, Roger positioned himself behind their chairs, his gloved hands resting lightly on their shoulders.
"Well?' queried the senior Van der Arc. "Yeah," chimed in the elder Mooney, "What's the deal?"
Roger allowed himself a brief smirk. "I propose a merger."