'Campbell Irvine?'
'Oh, hey! Mr McMahon, hi!'
'Hey, man. Call me Shane. Mr McMahon is my father. How goes the training?'
'It's going great, Mr McMahon. I mean…uh, Shane.'
'I need to ask you a couple of questions.'
'Um, sure. Shoot.'
'Do you recognise this business card?'
'Uh…I'm not sure…'
'This would be heaps easier if you were just honest with me. I just want you to answer a few questions.'
'Man, all my life all I've ever dreamed of is being part of the WWF. I don't want to-'
'Look, Irvine, I promise you that whatever you say will not affect the terms of your new contract. I just need some answers, okay? Some very important answers.'
'Alright.'
'This card? Is it yours?'
'Yeah. A friend of mine printed it out of his computer.'
'And you gave one of these to Dr Daly, is that right? Posing as some kind of ad executive?'
'Uh…yeah. That was me.'
'Why did you do that?'
'It wasn't my idea, okay?'
'Then whose was it? Did someone ask you to do it for them?'
'Yeah.'
'Who?'
'What happened was she told me I had to do one last thing before they could be confident in offering me the contract. Some kind of personality building exercise of some kind. I swear, I didn't know what she wanted that tape for!'
'Who was it, Irvine?'
'Oh, man…'
'Just tell me.'
'It was your Mom.'