"One of the released excerpts from the book mentions Kendra Laushire, daughter of Thomas Laushire of Laushire Enterprises. We previously reported on her presumed death in the Rallsburg incident, but with this new information come to light about her activities, we approached Mr. Laushire for a fresh perspective."

"Mr. Laushire, thank you for taking the time to speak with us today."

"Of course."

"Have you read the piece about your daughter from the Rallsburg Diaries?"

"Many times."

"What do you think about Kendra's activities? She seemed to be at the forefront of a new market, dealing in magic of all things."

"It's admirable. If I could speak to her today, I'd tell her I was proud of what she accomplished. She took a wholly unprecedented situation and established a new economy to help it succeed."

"You seem to be extrapolating quite a bit from the brief couple of paragraphs that were released. How can you be so certain she was responsible for this so-called 'Astral Market'?"

"She's my daughter. She's a Laushire."

"But sir, isn't it true that you rejected her involvement in your own company? She was slated to be a director on the board and by all accounts, you personally had her appointment blocked."

"You're talking about the so-called 'leaked memos' from our internal network, yes?"

"Yes, but combined with the rumors of a shocking revelation regarding your relationship in the book, you have to admit they paint a compelling picture."

"A false picture."

"But sir—"

"I don't deny their legitimacy, I contest their accuracy. Anyone who has ever worked for an operation at this scale would inform you that memos, rumors and emails cannot tell the whole story. Assuming as such would be counter to your sterling reputation as a bastion of quality journalism. I'm disappointed you place any stock in such rumors."

"Sir, with all due respect, one email — from your own daughter, I might add — was particularly scathing and quite specific. It's hard to deny the obvious connection."

"That was a personal disagreement among family. I won't discuss it."

"Sir—"

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I must get back to work."

"...Thank you again for agreeing to meet with us today, Mr. Laushire."

"Thank you."

"That was Thomas Laushire, speaking about the recent revelations regarding his daughter Kendra in the forthcoming Rallsburg Diaries. Up next, literary analysis of the released text, as we try to uncover more information about the mysterious author of the Diaries and her origins."

Thomas Laushire hung up the phone, leaning back in his office chair and pressing his fingers to his temples.

"Mr. Laushire?" his assistant asked tentatively through the intercom.

"Get me Bastian, please," he replied.

"Right away, sir."

Philip Bastian was his head of security, a man who was not having a good month. His hairline seemed to recede further every single time Thomas saw him. He practically stumbled into the room a few minutes later, laptop under his arm. "Mr. Laushire, I—"

"How?" Thomas asked simply, picking up a glass of scotch from his desk. He took a long sip before continuing. "How is he getting in?"

"Sir, we've tried everything—"

"You obviously haven't." He squeezed the glass in his fist, to the point a lesser cup might have shattered—but Thomas Laushire only ever purchased the best. It would take superhuman strength to break.

"We replaced the whole network piece by piece. Every inch, every machine. We even got cooperation from our ISP to monitor all traffic in and out of the building from their end. We've installed new encrypted tunnels everywhere and rerouted our entire system. Nothing works."

"Bring in experts."

"I've done that. We brought in the smartest kids in Silicon Valley and offered a huge bounty. They tried everything and couldn't break into our network. Said it was foolproof."

"Well, I'm feeling pretty damn foolish, Bastian."

"Sir, I have to conclude the leak is internal, and human."

"I thought you were already pursuing that angle."

"I am, but there's only so much we can do. We've laid honeypots everywhere, but we haven't found a single mole."

"Have any of these been communicated electronically?"

"No, of course not."

"So you're saying that every single one of my employees is apparently loyal, our network impenetrable, our system perfectly secure — and Cornelius Malton is still able to read our every move like a damn book?"

"...Yes, sir."

"Bastian?"

"Yes, sir?"

"You're fired."

"I—"

"Get out."

He left in a hurry. Thomas drained the rest of his drink, swivelling to stare out of the tall windows overlooking the Thames. How the hell is he able to pull this off? Every deal I make, he swoops in like a crow at the eleventh hour with a better offer. Every move, every negotiation, every deal. They're all going his way.

The Culver-Malton Group had been rivals with Laushire Enterprises for decades, each commanding a healthy share of the global economy. They were both massive industry leaders, with their hands in every slice of the pie and every other dish on the table as well. If a company shipped a product overseas, odds were it sailed on a boat belonging to Malton, Laushire or the Chinese. Laushire powered more than a third of the European continent, while Malton ran the lights for the other third. They owned car manufactories, steelwork foundries, mining operations.

Laushire had recently expanded into foodstuffs in the last half-dozen years, while Malton explored private military work with with his "Malton Solutions" brand of contract killers. Together they accounted for a sizeable portion of the global economy, each racing to swallow up more subsidiaries than the other.

They'd always been on fairly level ground, until the last few months. Something changed. Cornelius Malton, damn him, had started to outplay Laushire at every turn. Stocks in Thomas' companies were plummeting as they lost deals and partnerships, while inflammatory leaks proceeded like clockwork to tear down executives working under his umbrella. Many had resigned in disgrace. Several had been arrested.

Thomas himself had never done anything illegal, merely questionable, so his own standing was quite stable. But as soon as the relationship with Kendra came to light… well, no one particularly enjoyed seeing a father berating and humiliating his daughter in front of the directors of a company.

"She wasn't ready!" he shouted at no one in particular. "I was trying to help her!"

"...Sir?" chimed his intercom.

"Go away!" he snarled through the door to his assistant, who quickly turned it off.

I'd take it back if I could. All of it.

The phone on his desk rang. He picked it up, his voice a low growl. "If you couldn't tell, I wanted no interruptions."

"And I wanted a nice lunch hour to myself, but apparently you're burning our company to the ground again."

"...Mary?"

His wife sighed audibly through the line. "Dear, we really must stop meeting like this."

"What is it?"

"Your assistant called me. He's a good lad, so would you please stop shouting his ear off through the door? I'd hate to see him quit."

"I'd fire him first."

"It's a good thing I hired him, then, so you can't do that."

"...What do you want?"

"Well, I'm enjoying a lovely afternoon here at the School and thought, 'hmm, I wonder how I can make things a little less pleasant?' So, naturally, I phoned you."

"I'm rather busy—"

"No you're not. You're sacking competent, loyal directors who've done no wrong and blowing up at the slightest shift in the wind. I told dear Bastian that he's still one of ours, by the by. He'll be taking a week off, but expect his poorly shaved beard in your board meetings straight away."

"You would undermine—"

"And another thing, Thomas. If you're so bloody upset by our rivals taking the upper hand in negotiations, perhaps it's time to get back into the field yourself? Cornelius certainly doesn't scorn getting into the muck while you lounge about your ivory tower. I do believe you're outplaying yourself."

"That's not why I'm angry."

"Isn't it?"

"It damn well isn't."

"Thomas, if you aren't going to act civil, this phone call will be rather unpleasant for us both."

"I've a whole mess of problems beyond Cornelius," he spat. "And I'd appreciate some damn sympathy and support from my wife, if you don't mind."

"Are you speaking about that interview you had this morning? I thought it went all right."

"They tarred and feathered me, Mary. Practically said I beat my children on national news."

"Oh, stop exaggerating, dear. No one's claiming any such nonsense."

"They made me out to be…"

"Like your own father, I expect?"

"...Yes."

"Well, dear, I'll fill you in on a little secret: you're quite a lot like your father."

Thomas stood up from his chair, phone to his ear. The receiver lifted up slightly as he growled. "Absolute rubbish."

"For heaven's sake, Thomas. I didn't say you were your old man."

"I wouldn't ever lay a hand on them."

"If you were the type, I wouldn't have married you, so let's dispense with the theatrics please?"

"It's my bloody fault, all right?" he snapped.

Mary didn't answer for a few moments. He could hear her faint breath through the speaker. "...What is, precisely?"

"I drove her away. I ensured she couldn't get a job teaching at any reasonable school. It's my fault she was in that horrible town."

"Oh, Thomas…" Mary sighed again. "It's not your fault."

"She could have stayed in London with you. She could have taught anywhere! She could have worked for the company in some other regard. It's my fault she went to such lengths to run from us."

"Thomas, you're blaming yourself for a spontaneous cataclysm. No one could have foreseen these events."

"Collins the younger did."

"Her Collins? I highly doubt it."

"He sent an email on May the twelfth. It wasn't clear—"

"Nothing penned by that man ever was."

"But he told me this was coming. Magic. All of it."

"Did he now?"

"I could have acted. I ignored it. He sounded mad."

"Anyone would have thought him mad, dear. You can't blame yourself."

"Four days later, she…" Thomas choked up. He couldn't bring himself to say it.

"...I know, dear." She hesitated. "Would you like me to come over?"

"You haven't been in this building in years."

"I might give the cleaning staff a heart attack then. Best not, I suppose."

Thomas sat back down, putting his head in his hands, the phone resting against his ear. "I don't know what to do."

She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. He could perfectly visualize the disdain on her face. "That's not the man I married."

"Malton's going to drive us off the top. The only place they haven't overtaken our growth is the American west coast, and that's only because some other player is making a move there. We're practically in freefall."

"What do we do when we're being out-maneuvered, Thomas? What did Malton do to even stay in the game in the first place?"

He frowned, thinking it over. "...Strike a deal. Merge with his competitors."

"Exactly. Look at their name, for Pete's sake! Poor Cornelius didn't even get first billing on his own company. Wendell Culver took the easy road and made billions."

"But who—"

"You said it yourself. There's a new player in the game, and they're outside our circle, so Malton won't have an edge. Swallow your pride and make the call."

Thomas sighed. "I've never met the man."

"What's his name?"

"Wilmore. The paperwork is all signed L. Wilmore. I haven't been able to get any more than that.."

"So get to work! Call the man! Honestly, how much of your job do you expect me to do?"

He smiled to himself. "Some of these days, I'm not sure who actually runs this company."

Mary laughed. "Get back to work, Thomas. I'll see you at supper. A late supper, mind you. I've got a meeting tonight."

"Right." He paused. "Mary?"

"Yes, dear?"

"I'm sorry. For… everything I did."

"Thomas, she would have left sooner or later, no matter what you did. I'm not saying you were in the right, but Kendra was always going to make her own way. She's just like her father. You said it yourself."

"Do you think she was happy?"

"I have no doubt. Now get to work, dear." Before he could say another word, she hung up.

Thomas felt like a great weight had been lifted from his chest. His wife always knew how to get him back on track. He set the phone down, then pressed the intercom for his assistant. "Get me our head of American operations, please. It's urgent."

He paused. "And, please inform Mr. Bastian to come see me at his convenience."

"Right away, sir."