Post by THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO on Oct 2, 2011 23:30:58 GMT -5
A cool breeze was blowing and a light rain falling, such that an umbrella was necessary, but not so much as to discourage travel. Raindrops dotted the window of the black sedan as it crawled through the city, picking up speed as it approached the outskirts. The day was quite right for a brief drive.
Normally, Monte Cristo might have had one of his staff drive him. Any man who worked for him had to have earned his trust first, meaning his full trust, an honor bestowed upon few. This, however, was a personal matter, a visit regarding a special sort of business. They had undertaken a project of considerable scope, and succeeded at it. Then again, how little was there in which the Count of Monte Cristo did not succeed!
Their motives had differed, but the goal had been similar enough. Richard Plantagenet had not been re-elected to his position as Mayor, which he had taken after the sudden - and still suspicious in the count's eyes - death of his brother. That, Monte Cristo supposed, provided at least part of the motivation for the part Richard had played in the plot. As for Monte Cristo, he also was displeased with Mr Tormei's victory, but he had also been driven by curiosity. He had once played the European stock markets to meet his own needs, and had wondered for some time whether he could achieve the same in America. He was not a bad man, or a deviant; he simply did as he wished, challenged himself when he grew bored - and bored he had been more and more often of late.
The way the stock market had reacted so broadly to their gentle nudges was intriguing yet almost disappointing to Monte Cristo. All it had taken was a phone call here, a bribe there, a touch of misinformation over there, and the entire market had collapsed. The value of the dollar was the lowest it had been in decades; stock traders and other businesses were filing for bankruptcy left and right. The government was discussing "bailing out" some of the more significant firms using funds from taxpayers. Tormei's response would be interesting to watch, Monte Cristo expected, and he hoped the man would make a fool and coward out of himself, giving Richard a spectacle to stand on for the next election.
Pulling up to the Plantagenet mansion, Monte Cristo alighted, umbrella open, the collar of his coat flipped up around his neck. While he did consider Richard a friend - in loose terms - Monte Cristo stood more to gain than just helping out a friend with the stunt he had pulled on the stock market. Having a powerful contact in the government was useful, almost a comfort. While the count doubted he would ever need to ask a favour of Richard - such days were behind him, left in France with the ruins of his past lives - there was no harm in securing acquaintanceships. Even the count did not always know what to expect of life.
He approached the front door and rang the bell, as was customary, though Richard was certainly expecting him. They had met and spoken often enough over the course of their project; now, however, they would simply enjoy the results of that work, bask in the glow of their own secret power. After all, what good was one's work if one did not stop to admire it?
Normally, Monte Cristo might have had one of his staff drive him. Any man who worked for him had to have earned his trust first, meaning his full trust, an honor bestowed upon few. This, however, was a personal matter, a visit regarding a special sort of business. They had undertaken a project of considerable scope, and succeeded at it. Then again, how little was there in which the Count of Monte Cristo did not succeed!
Their motives had differed, but the goal had been similar enough. Richard Plantagenet had not been re-elected to his position as Mayor, which he had taken after the sudden - and still suspicious in the count's eyes - death of his brother. That, Monte Cristo supposed, provided at least part of the motivation for the part Richard had played in the plot. As for Monte Cristo, he also was displeased with Mr Tormei's victory, but he had also been driven by curiosity. He had once played the European stock markets to meet his own needs, and had wondered for some time whether he could achieve the same in America. He was not a bad man, or a deviant; he simply did as he wished, challenged himself when he grew bored - and bored he had been more and more often of late.
The way the stock market had reacted so broadly to their gentle nudges was intriguing yet almost disappointing to Monte Cristo. All it had taken was a phone call here, a bribe there, a touch of misinformation over there, and the entire market had collapsed. The value of the dollar was the lowest it had been in decades; stock traders and other businesses were filing for bankruptcy left and right. The government was discussing "bailing out" some of the more significant firms using funds from taxpayers. Tormei's response would be interesting to watch, Monte Cristo expected, and he hoped the man would make a fool and coward out of himself, giving Richard a spectacle to stand on for the next election.
Pulling up to the Plantagenet mansion, Monte Cristo alighted, umbrella open, the collar of his coat flipped up around his neck. While he did consider Richard a friend - in loose terms - Monte Cristo stood more to gain than just helping out a friend with the stunt he had pulled on the stock market. Having a powerful contact in the government was useful, almost a comfort. While the count doubted he would ever need to ask a favour of Richard - such days were behind him, left in France with the ruins of his past lives - there was no harm in securing acquaintanceships. Even the count did not always know what to expect of life.
He approached the front door and rang the bell, as was customary, though Richard was certainly expecting him. They had met and spoken often enough over the course of their project; now, however, they would simply enjoy the results of that work, bask in the glow of their own secret power. After all, what good was one's work if one did not stop to admire it?
