"A toast to Drayson Loran!" Marcus Zane raised his glass of champagne theatrically, his mouth a contorted sneer; as close to a smile as he could manage. "Public servant, philanthropist, accomplished businessman, and most importantly of course, the man who's going to make us all obscenely rich! Here's to Drayson, and the merger!" Loran raised his own glass with some quiet hesitation that Zane would mistake for modesty. Loran knew better, of course, and so did the other man in the room; his point man and confidant, the stately Karl Duskan. He, too, joined in the toast, raising his glass to his friend and colleague, but shooting him a covert glare over his champagne as the three drank. Loran nodded back to him. They knew something that Zane didn't, or rather, something that Zane didn't know that they knew.
Of the three of them, Zane was the most ebullient, and not only because he already had more to drink than the others. Unlike the tactful Loran, and the reserved Duskan, Zane had the unfortunate habit of speaking (or shouting) whatever was on his mind, which was most often unpleasant or vulgar to all who had to endure it. It was only fitting for an unpleasant and vulgar man; Zane was a member of the Board of Trustees of the behemoth InterGalactic Mining Corporation, or IMC. He owed most of his success, Loran assumed, to his willingness to bully his rivals with unambiguous threats to their careers, or families. He had no endearing qualities except his results, and no doubt this is what the IMC saw in him.
Karl Duskan was the opposite of Marcus Zane in almost every respect; he was quiet and intellectual, and as honest as one could possibly be in this business. He was a member of the Board of Directors of Patriot Defense Services, Inc., or PDS. An old man with weathered, distinguished features and white hair, he was disinclined to subterfuge and, thus, uncomfortable with this particular meeting (because of the deception necessarily involved in it). But above all, he was endlessly loyal to his friend, Loran, with whom he had worked in various roles in various companies for over a decade, as he did now with PDS.
The only thing that Zane and Duskan had in common was, in fact, Loran; he was the Chairman and CEO of PDS, and―like Zane―a member of the IMC's Board of Trustees, as well. It was this arrangement, and Loran's ingenuity, that had resulted in the imminent merger of the two companies, which the men had gathered in Loran's lavish office suite to celebrate, ostensibly. Outside, Coruscant gleamed; the business district never slept (even this late), and the suite's windows overlooked most of the district's regal, glimmering skyscrapers. Loran could never quite decide whether the planet appeared more elegant from here, or from orbit.
"Hoo!" Zane said, glancing about the room as he set his empty glass onto Loran's coffee table, bluntly. "Say Drayson, where's your refresher? Too much champagne, you know, it flows right through me."
"Yes," Loran answered him after a moment's pause, stifling his distaste. "It's down the hall, the last door on the left, just before the gallery." Zane nodded to him, sneered, and disappeared around a corner and down the hall. Loran watched him for a moment, listened for the refresher door to close behind him, and then turned to Duskan. "Quickly," he whispered, "Follow me to the balcony, he won't hear us there."
They set their glasses down and walked outside onto the veranda with solemn purpose in their steps. The air smelled faintly of exhaust (as it always tended to on Coruscant, especially relative to the clean, recycled air of the suite), but those who worked and resided on the planet became necessarily accustomed to it. In any case, it wasn't the air―or his pronounced fear of heights―that made Karl Duskan uncomfortable on this night. "I don't like it," he said to Loran, his hands on his hips as he watched the passing speeders. He stood well away from the railing, and did not look down. "There's a lot of money in the balance here," he added, gravely.
"I don't like it either, Karl. But I wouldn't ask you to do it if I didn't think it had to be done, you know that."
Duskan sighed, then glanced back to Loran. "Do you have it?" he asked.
Loran reached into the pocket of his dinner jacket, retrieved a small, black datacard, and handed it to him. "This card has all the identification and clearances you'll need to access the IMC's research and development records. I've included instructions, as well, and the security codes for the various departments, just in case. Whatever this is, it's buried deep and won't be easy to find, so while you're looking into research I'll browse the accounting files again to see if I can't find where the money's been going, to help you out."
"How will I know it, if I find it?"
"I don't know," Loran said honestly, with a shrug. "Just do your best, and hope it's nothing." The sound of running water was heard suddenly from inside, as Zane apparently finished in the refresher. Loran nodded his head toward the room, "I'll mention it to Marcus tonight, carefully of course. But I doubt I'll learn anything from him, so the plan remains the same unless I contact you otherwise. And remember, make sure the other board members don't commit PDS to the merger until we know this for sure."
Duskan only nodded in reply, sliding the datacard into his pocket and meandering back toward the door, into the suite. He was vaguely dizzied by the height, and relieved to be back inside. "You used to be like him, you know. Marcus, I mean."
"I hope not," Loran said at once, with a startled laugh.
"Well, smarter," Duskan conceded, smiling. "But he has an ambition to him, and a ruthlessness, and so did you until lately. I haven't even had to lecture you on ethics or pragmatism in a long while now. I remember once you told me that morality wasn't truly possible in business, but here you are, still standing, so it must be possible after all, huh? Maybe it's the OSC that's done it, or this woman of yours, I don't know. But you seem like a changed man, and a better one, frankly."
"You're getting sentimental in your old age," Loran joked.
"Hey," Marcus Zane entered the room suddenly, with all of the presence of a proton torpedo and none of its subtlety. "Is that a bidet in your refresher?" he asked, emphasizing the word "bidet" as if to boast that he knew what it was, and how to pronounce it. But his childish sneer betrayed him; that he considered the device a hilarity from his university days, and still found it amusing, was obvious. "I've heard about them, but I haven't actually seen one before."
An awkward silence ensued, which Zane didn't seem to notice as he poured himself another glass of champagne, still smiling to himself. Sighs were sighed, and grimaces were grimaced. Duskan did the honor of changing the subject; "Well I should be going," he said, "It's late for an old man, and it's a big day tomorrow." He knew he wouldn't sleep at all tonight, of course, but it was a convincing performance. His old legs seemed weary as he ambled toward the door, showing his age. For a moment, Loran felt some guilt for involving his friend in all this, but it had to be. He needed someone he could trust, and he trusted Duskan like a father.
"Get some sleep, Karl," Zane said, as if he had thought of it, "Need you rested for the board meeting in the morning. I know you're going to come through for us." Despite having said "I know," Zane was, in fact, uncertain, and his uncertainty appeared as a quiet menace in his bleary, drunken eyes. He did not trust Duskan, like a father or otherwise. "I'll send a speeder for you tomorrow," he added.
"Thank you," Duskan nodded to him, "Good night, gentlemen." The three exchanged farewells, and the door closed behind him.
"Well, I suppose I should be going too," Zane said, having already finished his champagne. He only now seemed to realize that he had too much to drink, and his sudden premonition that he would probably have a headache throughout much of tomorrow had rather soured his mood.
"There is one thing I wanted to discuss with you," Loran said to him.
"Fire away."
"Well," he crossed his arms over his chest, glancing to his shoes for a moment, unseeingly, as he thought about how best to broach the subject. "I've been looking over the IMC's accounting files over the last thirty six hours, and I've noticed a lot of unusual credit transfers. Small amounts mostly, from one department to another, to another. It's arbitrary, as far as I can see, but there's so many of them that I can't really see how much money is going where." Of course, that's the point; it's money laundering, obviously, although Loran didn't say so. "I'm wondering," he continued, "if the IMC is working on some reorganization, or some project that I'm not aware of, ahead of the merger?"
"Are you asking me as a Trustee, or as CEO of PDS?" Zane asked. He appeared agitated that the subject had come up, but strangely, he seemed to expect that it would eventually. His sneer was gone, and his bleary eyes were thinking, working. The menace was there, too.
"Both," Loran answered, watching his demeanor closely.
There was a short, but tense silence between them, as Zane pondered a number of possible explanations in his head and, finally, decided on one that sounded the most reasonable. His sneer returned; prideful this time, but intended to be friendly. "You know how it is," he said, shrugging his large shoulders as he sought to dismiss the subject, "Last few hours before the big merger, I'm sure a lot of departments are worried about their funding. They're probably making deals with each other, you know. 'Transfer this here, and we'll transfer this there,' that sort of thing. I don't know anything about it, personally, but I'm sure it's nothing of interest."
Loran considered it. It was a reasonable explanation indeed, and he wanted to believe it―to put his concerns to rest and get on with business―but he couldn't. Much of the credit transfers had originated, apparently, in the security division; Zane's division. For him to be blissfully unaware of them (as he had just claimed) was, well, doubtful. Some of the transactions in the books exceeded the maximum amount for a provisional transfer, meaning they would have required Zane's signature and, presumably, his knowledge. But Loran would not confront him with this information, yet. "You don't seem particularly curious about it," he said, simply.
"And you shouldn't be either," Zane replied, brusquely.
"And why not?"
"Look," he said, losing his patience and standing closer to Loran to emphasize his height (he was one of few men, in fact, taller than Loran), "We have a good deal here; this merger is going to make us all a lot of money. You should be thinking about your board meeting in the morning, Drayson, not digging through the IMC's closets. You're wasting your time, anyway. I said there's nothing of interest, so let it alone. Just make sure your man Duskan delivers us the votes in that meeting tomorrow."
"He will," Loran said, his own patience also wearing thin. The conversation had gone on long enough, he decided, and Zane had confirmed his suspicions: the IMC was working hard to cover something up, and he needed to find out what that something was. Tonight.
"He better."
Loran recognized the threat, but let it go. He changed the subject instead, reminding Zane that it would be a long day tomorrow, and that he was going to turn in for the night. Zane departed the suite with a sardonic "Goodnight," and finally Loran was alone. It was 11:35. He went into his office, closed the door and went to work.
