Chapter 24c


Some have called McGarnagle jaded, paranoid.

And they'd be right to, because he wasn't buying the act.

Still, that was no reason for excessive rudeness.

McGarnagle simply nodded in recognition, and went about his business.

The office was crawling with various officers and security personnel, all combing through the various specks of glass and concrete that riddled the area, and McGarnagle was chief among them in his investigations, as he strolled along the wide glass wall that formed a vista at the back of the room.

The formerly pristine glass was now marred by an obvious defect: a curved cast of plaster that obscured the view as it patched over the great wound Adam had sliced onto the window.

McGarnagle took note of the window, as well as the broken wall, and handing dust particles as he weaved in and out of the various adjacent rooms, which had been set aside for the housing of various VIPs.

And, much to his frustration, McGarnagle found little that hinted at foul play. No trace that Mister Schnee had been obviously responsible for any wrong doing.

Though, as he followed a trail of footprints out to a lonely corner of the halway, he found, sitting there, something a bit more substantial than dust-specks.

Blake glanced up from her crouched position, noting the unusual intensity of the large, trench-coated, man as he looked down upon her.

"Yes?"

Blake was sitting on a short bench, leaning back against an interior wall when she said that. And, somehow, she seemed to grow even more diminutive, hunching lower as a painful tiredness overtook her features.

"Blake Belladonna?" McGarnagle asked, his voice dark with implications.

"Yes," Blake answered dispassionately.

And, slowly, the man crouched lower onto his knees, until they were nearly face to face. Lifting a long arm, he quietly brandished a small button that hung on the cuff, and then pressed it, slowly, so as to demonstrate the act in front of her.

"...yes?" Blake asked, a tinge of annoyance creeping into her voice.

"That was a jammer I just set off," McGarnagle said, speaking hurriedly in conspiratorial tones, "it'll shut off any surveillance within fifty yards. Blink twice if you're being held here against your will."

That… had taken Blake off guard. So off guard, in fact, that she instinctively blinked three times in order to process the information.

"I said blink twice if you're being held here. I can't take three blinks as a witness statement," McGarnagle said, as if talking about the most obvious thing in the world.

"I'm… not being held here against my will."

"Oh," McGarnagle almost looked disappointed. "Are you sure?"

Blake, again, blinked twice to process that information. "Yes, I'm sure."

"You… are aware this is Jaques Schnee's castle you're staying in?"

Blake looked askance with a notable lack of wonderment, and said:

"Yes."

McGarnagle only stared.

"Look, my ex-boyfreind's looking to kill me and everyone I love, ok?"

"Wait-" McGarnagle stopped her "- are you saying that Adam Taurus genuinely attacked this place?"

"Well, no duh," Melva said, kicking a stray pinecone off the side of the street, "of course Adam attacked the place. The newscasters could've told you that!"

"The Schnee Manor is not easily penetrated. It could easily have been a false flag."

"I still don't see what was gained by sneaking into the palace," Melva scowled showing her frustration at the lack of progress.

"Certainty, McGarnagle responded. Now we know Schnee wasn't lying to us."

"Well, we sure are certain now!" Melva waved a hand in the air. "Certain that we have no idea where to go next."


The rest of the day passed uneventfully for everyone at the castle.

After the security team had made their way through, the people were allowed to return to their duties, and the servants rejoiced, and the employees feasted, and the insurance companies investigated, and the executives were given pay raises, and the window repairmen celebrated on behalf of the greater economy, and everyone lived happily... ever... after.

Everyone that was, except Mr. S.

Do you know why?

Because, Mr. S, when he woke up the next morning, was, once again, greeted by Sieben, who had been waiting for him.

Once again, Sieben presented him with a finely crafted breakfast, and, once again, this breakfast was accompanied by a waterbottle.

A waterbottle!

Really, though, it wasn't the water bottle itself that worried Mr. S. No, that would be silly.

What caused him so much heartache was the looming threat of being poisoned to death.

Of course, technically, the problem was far from being an intractable one. Poison in his food? No problem, he'd just turn down the food, just like yesterday.

But… it wasn't just like yesterday, it was in fact, far from being just like yesterday, because, as Mr. S was walking along the hallways between meetings, guided along, once again, by Schwarz, it occasioned to occur to him that he hadn't eaten in two days...

He was starving!

And, internally, he cursed himself for ever before having used the word "starving" for what, he could now see, were perfectly flippant reasons.

Because he hadn't known what hunger was back then, man! And neither did anyone else who'd ever said "they were hungry" in his presence either!

But now he knew what hunger was! What true hunger was! And wanted to stop knowing, quick!

Really, he paused his trainwreck of a thought, taking some deep breaths. This was really only as bad as he insisted on making it, he thought. He'd just take some breathing exercises and meditate to take his mind off it.

He still had a lot of work to do after all. All he'd have to do was focus on that!

He had a board meeting today. Tomorrow, he'd probably have to pull the company off of the stock nosedive it seemed to be going through. By the end of the year, he thought it might make sense to uncover the global conspiracy that had apparently stoked the white fang into engaging in a global race-war. Right now, though, he just had to assure some panicked investors that the world wasn't ending, easy enou-

Oh, my god! He was starving! Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!

This! This was just the worst!

He'd remembered reading about The Sword of Damocles in Classic lit!

This was just like that! Except the sword was also a gun for some reason! And the gun was shooting poison into his food!

He was quite literally the richest man in the world now! He owned a thousand kine and a castle with world class restaurants integrated into it! There were airships delivering ingredients to the four eateries that inhabited this place! And, he, who owned the damn manor, was starving to death in it's very walls like he was in a Sarah McLehlan commercial!

He'd have called it ironic if his Classic lit teacher hadn't convinced him that he didn't know what Irony meant!

Whatever it was or wasn't, though, it was definitely a big fat joke, because he couldn't eat money. Heck, he couldn't even make an attempt because all of it was digital!

Why was life so unfair!

This, was the state of mind that inhabited Mr. S as he traversed the halls behind Schwarz.

And, this, was the state of mind that greeted Heinzel Lutz, as he intercepted them.

"Mr. Schnee! Heinzel Lutz, attorney at law!" He introduced himself energetically, standing just in the right place to keep them from walking around him. "I've been contracted by the board of directors of the Schnee Dust Company to inform you that you are being considered for retirement!"

Given his state of mind, one might forgive Mr. S for not caring.

Still, Mr. S was nothing if not willing to do things he didn't care about.

So it was, he found himself, once again, facing a table-full of board directors, talking about something he couldn't conceivable have forced himself to care about less.

"Let me make this short Jaques," the head board Director, Schen, said, looking with his classic squint straight at Mr. S. "We've both been in this business for far too long. I know every trick you'll pull and you know every one of mine."

Mr. S didn't bother to correct him.

"So…" Schen said, leaning back with a suddenly friendly manor, "let us compromise."

Mr. S again, didn't answer, looking stonily at Schen with his borrowed, shellshock, eyes, while, internally, trying to forget the fact that compromise sounded very much like cucumber if you ignored all the differences. Mmm... cucumber. He could go for some cucumber at the moment.

Schen, trying to hide his disconcertiion at the lack of any response, coughed and continued.

"You-" he said, pointing at Mr. S, "- will quietly resign as head of the SDC corporation effective immediately."

Out of the corner of his eye, Mr. S could make out Heinel Luntz holding up a resignation contract, smiling.

Schen continued. "You will be furnished with a… generous severance package of One Hundred Million Lien, and will be free to pursue whatever object you desire. You will even be allowed to retain your stockholdings. And, after that, we will go our separate ways. You will not be harassed or even contacted by anyone at this board, and you will be well remembered by your colleagues.

"Think about it, Schnee. This is a golden opportunity. You'll be able to leave it behind, and it'll be as if the last few weeks never even happened!"

Now that, had actually managed to draw Mr. S from thoughts of food.

The offer, he could tell, was definite.

And Mr. S's answer, was equally definite:

"No."

Schen reared back in his seat, and scowled over at him with quivering lips.

"Then… I must inform you, that you will be fired come six months."

"On what grounds!"

"As you know, Jaques, it is the privilege of the board to conduct a review of your behavior on the annum. That comes in six months.

"And, as you also know, it is the privilege of the board to fire the executive if he it revealed to have conducted two breaches of contract."

"And where did I breach the contract?" Mr. S asked.

"The stock is down," Schen said, "criminally so. While our investigation has not found any collusion, we are still under right to… review your competency if the stock devalues more than four percent over a year."

"The stock is always fluctuating, and it will be back up!" Schwarz shot back, having all this time stood like a pent up pressure cooker, frustrated at the demure silence with which Mr. S seemed to be taking the flagrant accusations. "And what's the second breach of contract?" She asked, aggressive.

Schen was quick to answer, a smile playing at his lips. "Why, you do not have liability insurance."

"I have liability Insurance!" Mr. S answered, having, incidentally, looked over that bit of data during his research.

"But your term with them ends in six months. And you will not be renewing."

"I will be renewing," Mr. S said confidently, crossing his arms.

"Actually," Heinel Lutz stepped in between Mr. S and the teleprompter screen, holding in his arms an ornamentally marked piece of paper. "I am also representing your insurance company, and, due to recent unreasonable expenses you've caused them, I am to inform you that your future premiums will be going up!" He said, with the tone of bringing good news.

"Give me that!" Mr. S snatched the paper out of Lutz's hands, smiling confidently at the ignorant lawyer, who didn't quite understand the levels of wealth he was dealing with.

Who cares if they increase it, he'd just pay it off, Mr. S thought, smiling.

Smiling, that was, until his eyes looked upon the ink and bulged, and he, in response to seeing the number, said:


Farbe was working as a maid today, wearing her brown patterned dress and carting along a cart along the hallways.

During her trip through the castle, she happened, at just the right moment, to pass by the meeting room in which Mr. S was talking with the board.

And, very indistinctly, through the thick wood of the doors, Farber thought she heard, very suddenly, a voice that sounded distinctly like Mr. Schnee's, saying:


"What the fuck!" Farbe said, relaying the news to a group of gathered maids. "I just heard Mr. S say the insurance company is planning to charge him ten Billion lien a month, and he was totally calm about it! He didn't curse once! I know I would've."

Beyond the gossiping gathering, Mr. S was walking along, content to know that he would be going without liability insurance next year.

He was also content knowing that, in all likelihood, his chances of bringing the stock up to acceptable levels before six months was… not gonna happen.

Beside him, Schwarz followed, silent.

Still, Mr. S wasn't worried, because he knew something the board didn't!

A food trolly passed by him, and Mr. S could smell the apples, and the wouwth matering vegetable buffet of perfectly crisp-

Back on topic, he told himself. He'd been finding it difficult, lately, to keep his stomach from his thoughts.

Anyhow, he'd spent the past day researching, and discovered something.

You see, Mister Schnee, personally, owned around five percent of the SDC.

The Board controlled twelve percent.

The Atlesian Government: fourty-eight percent.

The remaining fourty-five percent, as everyone in the world knew, was held in a private account labeled "Schnee Family Holdings".

What Mr. S knew, after having had a look at the relevant, private, files, was that the "Schnee Family Holdings" account was, in effect, under the guarantee of a single individual: Willow Schnee.

Yeah, one person owned nearly half of the entire company and he was married to her!

Sweet!

Now, of course, Mr. S wasn't blind to the marriage troubles between the couple, but he held strong.

They'd been married for over twenty years at this point, he'd just have to smooth out whatever recent troubles had gotten them into rocky waters, and he'd be in for a home run.

In fact, the fact that they had marriage troubles only encouraged Mr. S's expectations.

Because, truly, they must have loved each other a great deal to stay together for twenty years despite those troubles.

And, now, all Mr. S would have to do was go to that woman, and inform her that, though they were having some issues, this was bigger than all of that, because he was about to get fired; and She. Could. Save Him!

At a word from her, all of this could go away!

Oh, what luck, Mr. S thought. Emergencies like this were just the thing that could draw people together and help them overcome troubles.

So it was that, upon reaching the relevant section of castle, he found the nearest maid, called her over, and asked: "Where's my wife? I'd like to talk to her."

The maid politely smiled with frightened eyes, and every member of staff around her froze.

Immediately, one of the small children ran off to spread the news.

For once, Mr. S hadn't actually said something strange. This was an order everyone in the castle was familiar with.

It was just that Mr.S, when he said he wanted to talk to his wife, prepared himself for a talk; everyone else in the castle, prepared for war.


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