A.N. It gets a bit darker before we see the light at the end of the tunnel. I hope you enjoy the journey!
Chicago, Illinois, USA. 2034.
Edward used the plastic key card to open his hotel room door. When the green light blinked, he turned the handle and walked through the threshold, dropping his carry-on in the hall closet. He made his way to the desk by the floor-to-ceiling windows which overlooked downtown. Picking up the phone, he dialed the only number he knew by heart. It rang a few times, then a woman picked up.
"Hello?" She asked.
"Mei?"
"Ed?"
"Yeah. How's he doing?"
"Still the same. Hanging in there. He has a new physical therapist coming by on Monday." There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Ed could hear his sister-in-law take in a deep breath. "It's become difficult for him to pronounce certain words."
Edward ran his fingers through his bangs. The pain of watching his little brother fall ill to the same incurable and fatal hereditary disease that killed their mother was indescribable. In the past year, Al had begun to show symptoms of Huntington's Disease, which meant that it could be anywhere from ten to thirty years until his body and mind degenerated enough to eventually kill him.
"What about his medication? Can't they— I don't know, update it or something for the new symptom?"
"It's still the same. The speech difficulty is a small problem compared to the other symptoms he'll probably develop. Until the problems get substantially bigger, his doctor wants to keep him on the same dosage. He's still able to teach, though, so he's happy."
"Well listen, I'm sending some money—"
"You know you don't have to do that."
"Yes I do. I'll make the transfer in a few days. I gotta go, Mei. Take care. And tell Al to stay strong."
He hung up the receiver before she could protest further. He had work to do. Out of his briefcase, he pulled out the spec folder that Kimblee had given him. On the list of employees for Rockbell Industries, he searched for the names he needed. Research into each provided the following information:
-King Bradley, age 69. Married with one son. Heir to the Bradley family fortune. Board Member and Financial Backer to Rockbell Industries.
-Roy Mustang, age 50. Single with no children. Ex-military. Retired after achieving the rank of General in the US Army. Board Member and Tactical Adviser to Rockbell Industries.
-Riza Hawkeye, age 44. Single with no children. Weapons specialist. Board Member and Artillery Adviser to Rockbell Industries.
-Yoki Youswell, age 58. Married with no children. Accountant and Financial Adviser to Rockbell Industries.
Edward figured that Bradley would be attracted to the appealingly low prices of Kimblee's offer and could easily approach him outright. Youswell, being an old Jewish accountant, would probably put in a good word to Dr. Rockbell with a little financial motivation. It was stereotyping, he knew, but he'd be damned if it didn't work.
The tricky ones would be Mustang and Hawkeye. Mustang being ex-military would probably take the honorable route. Whereas he had no idea what to expect from a weapons expert, and felt vaguely threatened by that. He decided first to enter the ring against the person he was sure to win the fight: King Bradley.
He tracked down Bradley to a country club about thirty minutes outside of downtown, its eighteen hole golf course overlooking scenic Lake Michigan. The easy, sunny sight of Bradley wiping his brow after a fantastic game of golf foreshadowed their agreeable conversation. Edward approached him amicably and soon had Bradley agreeing to talk over lunch. And before they could finish their entrees, Bradley was convinced. 'One down, three to go.' Thought Edward. As the plates were collected, Edward gently tried to pry more information.
"Well sir, I am very excited at the prospect of working with Rockbell Industries, and I know my employer will be as well."
"Great, great." Bradley grabbed the dinner napkin he had stuffed in his collar and lightly threw it on the table as he rose from his seat. "Come by with the papers next week so we can all sign."
Edward rose with him. "One last thing, if you don't mind. Since you're definitely an advocate of this proposal, where might be the best place to approach your other board members, Mustang and Hawkeye?"
"I'll tell ya right now that Mustang won't take lightly to any lobbying. And definitely don't go to Hawkeye while she's at the range. She'll be more open to hearing you out though; her main concern will probably be quality assurance of the product."
"I see. Thank you for your time, then. Have a wonderful rest of you day."
"You too, son. And good luck!"
They clasped hands in a brief shake, then Edward watched Bradley exit the restaurant. Next stop, the accountant.
He made a quick stop at the bank to withdraw five grand in clean, crisp hundred dollar bills. He tucked them neatly into a manila envelope and folded it into his briefcase.
Yoki Youswell's office was on the fifth floor of an old, brick front, low-rise building in a bad neighborhood. It was one of those where the units used to be apartments, so there was no grand entrance into the suite, just a door marked 5A over a peephole. When you rang the bell, a receptionist buzzed you in.
Upon entering, the stench of musty books and yellowed files nearly knocked him back. If he searched under all the junk, he could probably find an old Gateway still running Windows '98.
The overweight, rundown, mid thirties receptionist looked up over her dollar store cat eye glasses, pissed that her attention was being diverted from her celebrity gossip magazine. "Can I help you?" She deadpanned.
Edward took a deep breath and turned on his most devilish grin and watched as she straightened her spine and elongated her neck at an attempt to make herself more attractive. 'This is too easy.' He thought.
"Good evening, Miss. I'm afraid I don't have an appointment, but am in great need to see Mr. Youswell. Is he in?"
She ogled him shamelessly from head to toe, taking in his lean and fit physique and strong jaw. "Just a minute." She replied as she got up from her chair and exited through a door that lead into the depths of the suite.
Not thirty seconds later, she reappeared. "He's leaving soon, but he'll see you. Go straight through there." She pointed to a hallway on the opposite side of the room and settled back into her nest of a reception desk.
Edward tiptoed through the dusty chaos of the suite to the back, where he found a scuffed door ajar for him. He entered into Youswell's office, which was twice as cluttered as the reception desk. The little light there was in the room was coming from a window that provided the decadent view of the neighboring brownstone's wall.
"Come in and sit down, but let's make this brief. My wife has already started on dinner." Yoki gestured to the guest chair and Ed made himself comfortable.
"Of course, sir. I've come to see you today on behalf of the company I represent, called Kimblee Factories and Co. You see, we are currently in talks with Rockbell Industries to become their Eastern manufacturers and distributors."
"Yeah, so?" Clearly Yoki did not require the finesse that lunch with Bradley took. Edward leaned forward. "I'm here to ask for your loyalty, Mr. Youswell. I will pay you five thousand dollars in cash right here and now, if you would advise Dr. Winry Rockbell to sign a deal with us."
"Five grand just for my recommendation? I've done worse for less. Sure, you've got a deal."
Yoki held his grubby hand out for the envelope and Ed began to pass it over. But before Yoki's greedy fingers could grab it, he stopped. "Before this becomes yours, Mr. Youswell, there is something else I need from you. Tell me everything you know about Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye."