They were having tea inside an ageing Dublin coffee shop. The establishment was a favourite of his cousin Anthony Campbell, whom he had always known as Tony. Tony was younger than him and, unlike Alexander, he was married, but his first child had been born the same year as the twins. They used to meet in that coffee shop when their busy schedules allowed them to take a day off. Tony was busy with his law firm and Alexander with his fledgling multinational pharmaceutical company, but this time they were in Ireland to celebrate the opening of a new branch of Umbrella Pharmaceuticals in the country. Tony accompanied Alexander and met Oswell E. Spencer in person. When the event was over, and before leaving for the cafeteria, Spencer told Alexander privately about James Marcus' request to have his own laboratory. In what little they spoke, both approved of Marcus' intention to centralise the company's administration and resources between the two of them.

However, Marcus was slow to realise his dream. The UK's entry into the European Communities and the October oil crash had turned the global financial system upside down. Rising prices made it easier for them to acquire a few subsidiaries that they hoped to make profitable by liquidating them or spinning them off as branches of an Umbrella Corporation, the next phase of their project. Spencer had drawn up a blueprint for the second stage. Destruction of competition and monopoly. Alexander was to revitalise his contacts with the US Department of Defence for participation in new projects, the profits from which would be reinvested in Umbrella. Until the crisis dissipated, they would not build any more facilities or clandestine laboratories.

"And how are the kids doing?" Tony repositioned the frames of his thin metal spectacles.

"Fine," Alexander replied.

"Did you get the results?"

"Yes, she's gifted. A genius."

Tony gestured with approval.

"Oh, the Ashfords," he said cockily. "We're going to have to get married again between cousins so you can't beat us for being so smart."

"The Windsors may have the Crown, but the Stewarts can add up to more than double digits," he understated quietly, assuming no loyalist was present.

"Tony," Alexander scolded. "Stop it."

"And how are you coping with your father?" he changed the subject.

"A little better."

"Are you still on antidepressants?"

"Yes, but less so."

"Too bad your children didn't get a chance to meet their grandfather."

Alexander was self-absorbed, folding a cloth napkin. That was supposed to have been the plan; that the twins would have had a chance to meet their grandfather.

Notes:

Oil crisis of 1973.

Loyalist: Loyal to the British Crown in Northern Ireland.