Breaking: Is Magic Real?


<small>
Jonathan Greene
Albany, New York
Reporter, The New York Times
www.nytimes.com

January 2, 2046
</small>

Nolan Trace's most recent talk on Vulpesnet left a lot of people scratching their heads, wondering when America's favorite political demagogue jumped off the deep end and started using cheap special effects in a desperate effort to grow his viewership. After all, he wasn't exactly hurting in that regard - so it begged the question of why he would destroy his career for a cheap stage trick.

In the last week, Trace has been taking a lot of hits to his credibility. Few are stopping to take his claims seriously, and most are focusing on why he decided to do something so outlandish on a live broadcast. More strangely, he has been avoiding the public eye since his announcement - calls for interviews and statements completely ignored.

So the story has begun to take shape: Nolan Trace has lost his mind, and disappeared into the woods. However, the media might need to change its tune. In a preliminary study released by the Harvard Laboratory of Molecular and Cellular Biology, several esteemed scientists
including Dr. Karl Jergensenn
have confirmed that there may indeed be something to Trace's claims.

The study tentatively concludes that, among other things, Nolan Trace is capable of causing some as-yet unknown form of plasma to materialize in midair. It is worth reminding the public that, although the initial conclusions may seem unprecedented, this is still a very early study. It will be months or years before any conclusive evidence can be presented.

Nevertheless, assuming Trano's claims are true, the question then becomes one of legislature: How will the governments of the world handle a populace that can kill each other as easily as looking?

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The full release of the study can be downloaded from Harvard University's public database.


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<tr><td>Downloads: 19,330,175...6...7...
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<table><tr><td>Comments: Open
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Edited by Nick Trano, Sep 21 2014, 09:53 PM.

Nolan Trace is the new Harry Potter: claims to be a wizard.


<small>
Betty C. Chi
Frisco, TX
Reporter, All Generations' News
www.All-Gen.com

2045
</small>


Did the Vulpesnet warlord hit his head while he was abroad?  This reporter thinks so. 

Recently, the American journalist, Nolan Trace, was embedded in the Custody Press Corps and served in the shadow of the Ascendancy of the Central Custody of Dominion for almost two weeks.  I say almost - because frankly - he didn't stay for the full tour.  Something about a flesh wound?  Eh, I kid, Mister Trace, don't shine your wizard wand my way.

After a brief recovery in the United States following his brief entrapment on the ground in Jeddah in which he was extracted by CCD special forces, he returned to the spotlight with [flash]bang!



<table>
<tr><td>
+++ Rolling clip of Nolan pacing the camera, looking around him, and mushrooms of fire bloom to his left and right. +++


</td></tr>
<tr><td>Caption: "I'm totally sane, yeh see?"
</td></tr>
</table>




You'll recall that shortly after Operation Jeddah, Legion Premiere released harrowing videos of their soldiers' last stand against the rebels - the defense that allowed civilians and VIP's - like Mister Trace - a chance to fly to safer skies.  You'll notice Mister Trace offered no thanks for the efforts that saved his life.  Such minions are beneath him, likely.  The only thing on his mind - surprise surprise - was his sole-sided arch-rival, Nikolai Brandon.  This relationship also seems to be one sided.  We begin to wonder if Mister Trace harbors some undisclosed feelings for Brandon.  Those blue eyes call to you? 

So it seems the new hot trick involves wand waving.  Well, men on the lower tiers of power usually pay special attention to their wands.  So I guess nothing's new.

But really, Nolan.  Did you hit your head?  We're worried about you.




<small>Downloads to date: 10,398,201...2....3....4</small>


Comments: OPEN

Nicholas made a mental note to move the VulpesNet offices somewhere closer to the ground. The elevator ride to the hundredth floor of a skyscraper felt like an eternity when you were set to talk to a few hundred million people. You'd think it would get easier, with time, but that elevator ride up - or that walk from his office - it always felt the same. It wasn't a good feeling. And then afterwards, there was the wait to see if what you said or did even had the right effect. In a lot of ways, that one was worse.

It hadn't taken more than a few days' worth of Nicholas sitting on his ass watching the world heat up for the waiting to become unbearable. He had three doctors telling him to take it easy, and a half dozen bodyguards beside - prancing around in the real world after showing off your magic demon powers is a nice way to get shot. And clearly, judging by the sling his arm was in and the noticeable limp when he walked, bullets were about as effective towards wizards as silver is to werewolves. I wonder if I'm going to run into one of those soon, too.


He was leaning against the glass wall of the elevator, looking down on the city below. You could see how much it had changed in the past thirty years. Old Aberdeen hadn't had a building taller than ten stories. Now all along the old city limits, skyscrapers and stadiums and all the other hallmarks of a well-to-do metropolis had taken hold. The world had changed a lot since his childhood. In a few seconds that door behind him would open. He was about to do something crazy - something stupid. But if it worked, well, the Custody missed its golden opportunity.

The doors opened. People cheered. He smiled and waved.

---

It took about an hour before everything was set up. It had been almost a month before he'd broadcasted live - and the people at the office had been expecting him to stay in exile for at least another couple weeks. But a limp and a sling can work wonders in politics. Especially if you have a winning smile to go with them.

He was standing on the stage, next to the desk he'd sat behind for the last few years. The lighter fabric of his sling stood out against the dark blue of his suit. The camera man gave him a thumbs up. It was on.

"Afternoon, America. It's been a few weeks. I'm sure you're all wondering where I've been, what I've seen,"
a jerk of his right arm, "How I managed to get shot three times..."
He paused and glanced off to the side, before looking the camera directly in the eyes. "So I'm going to tell you everything. You might want to sit down, America, it's going to be a while."
With that, he turned and walked behind his desk, making damn sure not to exaggerate the limp.

Once seated, he continued. "Around December first, I got a message from the Custody's - press department requesting that I come over and follow Nikolai Brandon around for a while. "
Nicholas smiled. "I guess they really saw a connection during that interview. I turned it down, and a few days later some very persuasive people showed up at my house and convinced me to accept. It probably wasn't supposed to be a surprise when it turned out one of my staff members was a Custody agent. After all, it's a hallmark of a civilized country to spy on people who are willing to openly question the actions of dictators."
He went on for a while about his time in Russia - the squalor of Moscow and the Machiavellian political machinations of Nikolai Brandon. He figured it best to skip over the dead body that'd shown up in his suite.

"I only stayed in Russia for a couple weeks before they sent us all down to Saudi Arabia. At the time, Brandon must have thought Mohamed Al-Hasan wasn't much of a threat, because he decided to try assassinating him before the talks. Clearly, that didn't work, so I found myself in the very uncomfortable position of an infidel trapped in Mecca during a revolution.

The Custody tried to evacuate everyone before things heated up too much, but that fell apart right after the first few planes got off the ground. I remember sitting at a bar in the airport waiting to get out of there when the first car bombs hit. I can fault the Custody on a lot of things, but their soldiers fought hard out there. Still, they were being pushed back.

I had just barely convinced everyone in that bar to quiet down and move into the maintenance hallway when a group of rebels started charging in. I was pretty sure I was about to die. Then they did. A squad of Custody Knights came in behind them and lead us to safety. Safety turned out to be a concrete walled storage area."


Nicholas held his left hand in front of him. "Now here's where the official Custody story deviates from reality. I know most of you have already seen the recordings."
Fire leaped from his palm and rolled across the stage, inexplicably burning everything but him. "The Custody's been lying to you all, and I can tell you why."
He stood up and walked past the remains of his desk, fire still all around him but not touching him. Then with a cutting gesture of his hand, the flames slammed to the ground and went out. "Nikolai Brandon has been using his powers for years, in secret. And he's strong."
Nicholas smirked. "Yes, the Earth has its own evil wizard emperor. But Brandon can't keep this one secret. In just the past two months, I've seen magic popping up all over the world. One of them tried to kill me in Mecca."


Nicholas looked the camera in the eye. "So why am I painting a target on my back to tell you all this? That's what I'd ask me."
He assumed a conversational tone. "It's because this is the Sickness. I had the Sickness - and I was just barely lucky enough to survive it in the sick bay of a Destroyer.

In the Custody, people with the Sickness just die, or disappear. There are no recorded cases of Sickness survivors. So why would a man like Brandon go to all that trouble? It looks, to me at least, like he's building an army."


Nicholas shook his head. "That's the last thing this should be used for. This power - it's amazing. I've barely scratched its surface and I can already see its potential - free energy, limitless construction, industry on a scale we've never seen. We can use it to build something great. Brandon just wants to tear the free world down."








Edited by Nick Trano, Sep 20 2014, 12:00 PM.

Zab Air Base.


Branimir Havanko stifled a cough behind a stout glove. His hands were warm beneath the layers of woven fibercloth. The gloves, like the rest of his uniform, were built to endure cold mountain weather, even siphoning energy from his body heat to power the insulation. At the dead of winter, New Year's Eve no less to be exact, and to finish his inspections of the base exterior, he needed every bit of warmth as could be afforded. Luckily the Custody spared no expense.

He swept his gaze across the long, open field in front of him, and when he found nothing amiss, his gaze was pulled toward the peaks of mountains beyond. Luckily, the CCD was not shy about the standards issued to dressing their servicemen. Those mountains seemed distant, but the cold winds blew off the slopes all the same as if he were at their base. Snow snaked clouds of white across the runway, but otherwise, little moved.

The screech of the radio in his ear pulled him out of the moment.
"Havanko. Its Václav. What's your status?"

Branimir touched a gloved finger to the sidebar on his glasses, and the connection circled back around to base. He could speak freely now.
"Václav, its Havanko. Approaching Delta Tower. ETA five or six minutes."

One last drone tower remained before he could return to base. Best he get a move on or else he was likely to still be doing this when the sun set. Thought it was cold now?
"Hurry it up, Airman. Václav out."


Branimir rolled his eyes, "Yes sir. Havanko out."


The tower itself was positioned at the edge of a cliff and loomed like a spire dozens of meters overhead. Years in and Branimir still dreamed of the chance to be a UAV pilot. After failing his second trial test in a row, it seemed the closest he would get was to inspect the damn towers.

"Somebody's got to do it,"
he said to himself. He switched on his body sensors, powered up the check devices, and started climbing the ladder. Twenty rungs later, he was wrapping up the comm checks and ready to descend when something black on the horizon caught his eye.

He hooked his arm through the ladder and leaned out from the tower. The land warriors zoomed in, and sure enough, it was a plane. Black as night. Large. Like a commercial airliner. There were no symbols to be seen. A frown deepened his expression with concern. It was maybe a kilometer away and moving fast. He called back to base.

"Sergeant Václav, Havanko."

A screech, then his superior's voice responded. "Václav. Go."

"Sir. I have a visual on a bird. Potential bogey. Copy?"


There was silence for a few moments. More than what made Branimir comfortable. He started to climb down the tower.

"Copy. We see it."
Havanko couldn't tell if Václav was excited or worried. "Stay clear of the runway, Havanko. She's coming in to land."

"Sir, what is it?"


"That's above your clearance, Airman."
Václav responded.

Havanko sighed and hurried down the ladder. The bird was sweeping in for the land. Behind him, the runway was empty. But to his surprise, Václav wasn't done. "Its above mine too, but I'm told she's radio callsign Cronos."


Havanko felt his body stiffen sharp as an icicle. Trainees whispered stories of Cronos like urban legends.

Nobody believed the plane was real.

I'm getting settled in at Nuke School (3.73 GPA so far) and I'll be getting back into writing here soon. Keep pestering me by email and Facebook if I'm taking too long, guys.

The morning air of northern Slovakia was crisp and chill. The city of Zilina was a hive of Custody commerce. Little was left to remind the people of the rich Slavic heritage; it had evolved into the perfect vehicle of modern industry.

Michael was glad his business would take him elsewhere. There were too many officials lurking in the depths spinning the Custody's webs. Too many people were wont to recognize him these days, and now was not a time he wanted to be noticed. The fact that he had rushed to the former Slovakia on an early morning flight was suspicious enough as it was.

Armed with a small luggage case he stood behind and elderly couple waiting at the airport taxi rank. True to the Custody's smooth efficiency, it was not long before was seated - thankfully out of the cursed winter cold - in the back seat of robust driver's car.

"Where to, friend? Are you celebrating tonight with family?"


Michael showed the driver the location pinpointed on his Wallet. He wasn't going to make a fool of himself trying to pronounce the name and confuse both of them. "I plan on having a quiet New Year."


"That's quite a way, friend,"
the driver said with a troubled smile. "It will definitely be quiet there! I do not go so far, it would take at least three hours."


Michael stared at the man without expression. "I would not be here if it was not important. I will pay double the rate."


That seemed to placate him well enough, as money often did, but it did not help to ease Michael. Three hours travelling in a taxi was more than long enough for his taste. Luckily, he did not have trouble occupying his time. In fact, three hours was not enough, but the world did not run by his schedule and he would make do with what he had.

Michael opened a data-pad beside his wallet that was not connected to the Internet. The information was too sensitive to gamble with. He opened the Atharim database with a sense of dissatisfaction and frustration, scrolling through the list of names until he reached the desired information.

A picture of a man in his forties with unkempt greying beard posing for what appeared to be a licence photograph met his cool blue eyes.

If only the fool had kept his head down like the rest, he rued the thought, not for the first time. Tales of demons possessing men were all but obsolete in the modern era and the officials at least dismissed it as country superstition. Unfortunately, it drew the gaze of hidden beasts. Beasts that would rear their heads far too soon.

For it was too soon. He had not finalized a strategy to deal with this mess, but events had forced his hand and he could no longer ignore it.

The sun was fading by the time the village came into sight. When the driver alerted him to their imminent arrival, Michael looked up from his contemplation to study his destination.

He found his eyes beset by a dilapidated village akin to a twentieth century small farming community. Acres of ice-covered smooth hills were framed by a backdrop of white mountains spotted with dark dots of human presence. It took half and hour of winding through the narrow road to reach what he supposed was the village centre, a collection of outdated brick houses surrounding the main thoroughfare.

"Here will be fine,"
he eventually said as they approached the centre next to the local grocery store. It was closed, and the entire street was silent beside the hum of the taxi's motor.

The driver looked concerned. "Are you sure? Do you want me to wait for a bit?"


The day had cooled and the country air, unblemished by the pollution of industry, numbed his nose and ears but the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end for a different reason.

As soon as he had felt it - the dark foreboding like a distant storm-cloud - he had to resist the urge to grasp the power. "No need. I know exactly where I am going,"

Edited by Michael Vellas, Sep 14 2014, 11:28 AM.

Moscow wasn't built for cars.

Asha didn't have the frivolous cash for the metro system, nor enough in her account to pay for accommodation if she also wanted to eat. Russia was expensive, and her options - she realised quickly - were limited. All her worldly belongings - Wallet excepted, that stashed in her pocket - were shoved under the foot-well. A pile of blankets lay folded on the passenger seat, faded bright colours and fabrics - worn, loved items. A cut of quartz hung on a thong from the rear-view mirror, rainbowing the winter light like sentimental kisses across the interior.

The car was home, or close enough.

She'd parked on the far outskirts, in a location that didn't buzz with too much peripheral activity so she'd feel safe when she slept. That morning snow an inch thick had blanketed her windscreen; she'd woken in a freezing white cocoon, reminded of the icy winters of her youth. Her breath puffed frigid little clouds in front of her nose, and despite thick socks and ugly boots her toes were chilled. She never had liked the cold.

The walk to the city was a good long trek, but the gentle entrance to civilisation at least gave her the opportunity to acclimatise slowly. She'd travelled cities a hundred times with her uncle, but alone the transition was always more traumatic, and Russia was utterly foreign her to her. She was charmed, in a way, by that strangeness - both austere and beautiful, old and modern. The colours delighted her. The fusion. Only the people marred the experience, though through no fault of their own. The humdrum of their emotion soaked into her. Like rain that slowly hardened to hail. She could ignore it, but it wasn't pleasant to endure.

Asha was here for a reason, but not one that carried urgency. She meandered like a tourist, pausing to take pictures with her Wallet of anything that caught her fancy. She'd sort through those later, probably back at the car this evening. Best be back before it got dark; some of those streets hadn't felt pleasant, and it didn't seem wise to walk them alone in the dark. Concerns for later, though. By mid-afternoon she was entrenched in the city. The day was bright, the sun cold and proud in a pale sky, and she was frozen. Her coat was thick, but she'd been spoiled with warmer climates. She could do with a rest, use the time to start drafting words to go with those photos.

This close to the centre there were no really quiet places, so she just picked the one that felt the least intrusive to her sensitivity. It smelled nice, drawing mild pangs of hunger, but mostly she just wanted to warm up. A smile greeted the young man behind the counter, her dark gaze briefly glancing up to take in the boards overhead. She tugged at the scarf wound round her throat. "Uhh... A coffee? Please?"
These days it wasn't popular to carry cash, but the habit was engrained. Asha upended her purse into her palm, fingers numbly plucking through the bits of shrapnel. She spread the treasure out on the counter, counting each piece.

And came up short.

"Ah."
She felt her cheeks heat at the realisation. There was a line forming behind her; she could feel the impatience prickling her skin without needing to look. The guy behind the till was radiating pity and discomfort at her situation, and it only made her feel worse. His gaze flittered away. He cleared his throat. Move on. She could feel it in him, the urge to save her further embarrassment. "Does that get me... anything?"

<small>[[continued from you know how we do it]]</small>


Marcus waited in the foyer of the restaurant for Elouera. His lunch earlier must not have agreed with him because he felt a bit quesy in his stomach as he sat there. Perhaps it was the thought of Thai food. He wasn't a huge fan. Too much peanut butter. But for some reason people kept suggesting it. He shrugged. He'd rather have had Korean. But food really didn't matter. Sustenance was sustenance. And if Elouera was more at home and relaxed, the better. One less thing to think about.

Finally Elouera arrived. He was puzzled she had changed. After the gym- he'd hit his back and chest hard in super-sets after which he'd done kettle balls and clean-and-jerks- and a shower he'd changed back into what he'd worn earlier. But she was wearing a dark yellow dress with mid-rfff flows down to a swirl skirt. She was very attractive in it, though, so he didn't mind. Women were different anyway. And he had no desire to sit at a table by himself waiting

He said hello and then indicated to the maitre'd that his party had arrived. "You look lovely. I hope you had a productive meeting."

The husband-wife team that headed the multibillion dollar company responsible for the development of the technology in the Wallet, Shale Industries, died in a tragic plane crash last week. The circumstances behind the plane crash are still unknown.

The question remains: What will become of Shale Industries? All shares of the company that have belonged to Martin and Victoria Shale have passed on to their oldest daughter Emily, 25.

Miss Shale received a B.S. in Human Services and a MBA from the University of Illinois - Champaign-Urbana. Until recently, she was a Junior Associate in the Philanthropy Division at Shale Industries. The jump from Junior Associate to CEO is quite the promotion. Will she be able to handle it?

Miss Shale has declined to comment on which direction she wishes to take the company.

Comments are OPEN

Age: 25

Origin: Chicago, IL

Occupation: CEO of Shale Industries and Philanthropist

Psychological Description: Emily is kindhearted and smiles a lot (although at the beginning of posting she is stressed and grieving her parents’ death). She is very professional in her business dealings. She has a heart for people and seeks to help those less fortunate than herself. Due to an attempted rape when she was 18, she has a phobia of men touching her physically – this includes hugs, kissed, hand shakes, ect. As she has to shake hands with businessmen quite a bit, she can bring herself to do so, but it is a fear and she does it cautiously. She has a strong sense of family, taking on a natural role of mentor to her younger sisters. She believes in creating real relationships, and although she loves communication technology and social networking, she is consistently looking for ways to improve real social interaction between people.

Physical Description:
Emily is 5’9” (1.75 meters) tall. She has shoulder length blonde hair with green eyes. She is athletic.

Powers: Channeler

Current Strength: 5

Potential Strength: 29

Experience: New

Reborn God: Isis

Biography:

Shale Industries:
Shale Industries is a multibillion dollar company based in Chicago, IL. Founded by Martin and Victoria Shale in 2005, the company started out in oil production and has expanded to include technology (mainly microchips and processors), software, hardware, steel, and manufacturing. Most notable of its accomplishments is the technology used in the modern Wallet – a handheld device that combines a Smartphone and supercomputer.

Humanitarian Efforts:
Martin and Victoria believed that it was the duty of the fortunate to assist those less fortunate than themselves. As a result, Shale Industries has been involved in Philanthropy activities from donating to disaster relief funds and other charitable organizations. They also initiated a project to give the underprivileged job training and eventually jobs within the company.

Emily's Biography:

Emily Shale was born to Martin and Victoria Shale on December 25th, 2020. Growing up in a wealthy family, she wanted for nothing, but still developed her parents love for hard work. She went to a private school and was very successful. As a child, she proved to be clever and great at solving puzzles. Growing up, she enjoyed volunteering at shelters and helping the less fortunate. Her parents taught her that it was the responsibility of the wealthy to help those who were less privileged. Going to school with other rich kids, she learned that her parents were in the minority.

College Life/Magic:

Emily attended the University of Illinois where she majored in Human Services. Although she had dated some in high school, she met her first real boyfriend, named Bryce, while in school. At first, Bryce was kind to her, but Emily wanted to move slower than he did. After they had dated for a few months, he tried to force her into having sex with him. She resisted, but he pushed harder for it, even becoming violent. With a yell of “get off”
Emily put her hands on his chest to push him away and to her surprise, Bryce went flying across the room, hitting his head on a desk in the dorm room. Bryce was knocked unconscious, and a scared and confused Emily ran from the room. The next day, she broke up with him. Bryce didn’t remember the incident. Since then, Emily has had a fear of males touching her and hasn’t had a boyfriend since. She didn’t understand what she did, but thought it had to have been some type of supernatural strength – like when a mother pulls a car off of a baby. She hadn’t pushed him that hard. It was in about a week that she became sick and was bedridden for a few days. After getting better, she began to research the circumstances of the incident with Bryce and even went to a campus Wiccan group to figure things out. She met Chelsea there. Chelsea explained magic to her and Emily thought she had figured it all out. She was some sort of magician-witch thing. Chelsea had some experience and taught her how to control it in time, but Chelsea’s own experience was limited. They became roommates eventually, but that caused more problems than not. The two were not compatible and they soon had a falling out, and Emily left the Wiccan group to explore on her own. Emily never used her power much, so she is weaker in the power, but is able to control it. She stayed at U of I, getting her Bachelors Degree in Human Services and a Masters in Business Administration.

The Job Interview:
Emily returned to Chicago and moved back in with her parents. Her parents wanted to give her a job, but Emily insisted that she earn the position. Her parents had smiled at that, so she filled out an application and was summoned for an interview.

Luckily, her interview was with a group of women. Her parents had probably had something to do with that. They knew her fears, but they had also made sure though that Emily didn’t know the women on the committee. Emily met them with a smile and shook their hands before sitting down. She stored their names for later – Amy Somers, Marcelina Martinez, and Jaylen Smith. The interview as pretty typical – questions such as tell us about yourself, and why should we hire you. Emily was confident; she met their gazes and smiled often as she spoke of her internships and experiences. She was even prepared for the harder questions.

“Shale Industries prides itself on innovation. What does innovation mean to you and what can you bring to the table with regards to that – both in your division and out?”
Amy, most likely the leader, asked.

Emily smiled at her and met her eyes. “Innovation is creating goods and services to meet different needs and/or expanding on those ideas as the times change and new needs or problems arise. Take this for example,” Emily pulled out her own Wallet and set it on the table. “Shale Industries’ staple technology. It’s fantastic. Imagine the turn of the millennium where you had to carry a cell phone and a bulky laptop to the office. Now we have this – a combination of the two. It’s small, light, compact, and has many times the operating capacity of that laptop. This is a true innovation, but has it reached its full potential? I would say no. Technology is always shifting and thus, we are always innovating. There is also a problem with this device though – social interaction. People don’t talk as much anymore. It’s been a problem since the invention of the Smartphone and no one has approached it. The question we need to ask is how we use this technology to bring each other together, rather than separating them.”


Emily paused for a moment to transition to her next topic. She had noticed the looks of approval in the committee. She had been worried about mentioning what she thought to be a weakness in the Wallet, but it was important to her.

“I’m applying for a job in the Philanthropy division so a more specific example would be orphanages. Let’s face it, in the last few centuries, orphanages haven’t changed much. They are holding pens for children without families, and the family is the most important social unit for society. I’m lucky; I’m from a fantastic family that supports one another very well, but these kids have been denied that. All of their physical needs are met, yes, but what about their emotional and social needs. I’ve seen many orphanages and some are stellar, but there are still many out there in which the children fight to get special privileges. The children steal from one another and are ignored. Many of the children deal with abandonment issues wondering why ‘mommy and daddy didn’t love me enough to keep me.’”
Emily couldn’t keep the sadness out of her eyes as she said it. She would never forget the face of the boy that had told her that. “The whole issue is made worse by the adoption process. Many children have several interviews with several families before getting adopted. They are constantly being reminded of their loneliness and don’t feel loved. The process needs to change – the institution needs to change. All orphans should feel loved at the orphanage while we work to find them a loving family, regardless of the reason why they are there. The process needs to be shorter – we need to find ways to have fewer interviews and make the process quicker. As much as orphanages should feel like home, we still need to realize that our goal is to find them a loving family, but while they are there, they should feel unthreatened by their peers. They need to be staffed more and by people who want to help the kids.”


Emily realized that she was rambling, but the issue was very important to her. She picked up the three books she had put together for the interview and handed one to each member of the committee. “I’m going to be completely honest with you. This issue is very important to me, and if I’m hired, I will propose this idea to the Philanthropy Board. This is that proposal.”


Present Day:

Emily sat in her room of the Shale Mansion. She had gotten the job in the Philthropy division. She had moved back into the mansion and lived with her parents and two younger sisters. The two girls were happy to have her back. Rachel was 18, a young woman starting college for the first time and she confided in Emily often. Mara was 15, an adolescent trying to figure out her place in the world. Emily always made time for both of them. Their mother was gone a lot, and Emily found the role of advisor as natural to her. She had no problems offering her advice and experiences when her sisters asked. They were her little sisters and she would always be there to protect and guide them.

Her parents were heading to Moscow for a business meeting, and she was doing some work at home – continuing to work on her orphanage proposal. The work made her happy. It was exciting to make a difference. Her parents had invited her on their trip to Moscow. They had never hid the fact that she would inherit the company some day. She had decided to stay home and work and spend time with Rachel and Mara between working. In just an hour, she was going to surprise them with an ice cream trip. It made her smile to think that even though they were all adults, the idea of going out to get ice cream still made them giddy. Her thoughts were interrupted when a knock came on her door and she responded by telling the knocker to come in.
The head butler, Matthew Reeves, entered. The old gentleman entered with a sad look on his face. It caught Emily off guard – Old Matt never had a sad look on his face.

Emily frowned, “Hi Matt…what’s wrong?”


“Pardon me, Miss Emily,”
the older man’s voice trailed off. “You have a phone call. I think you better take it.”


This was bad. Old Matt wasn’t acting like himself. “Okay…”
she said quietly and followed him.

Matthew took her to the phone and passed it over to her. “Hello, this is Emily Shale.”


A moment later her jaw dropped and tears started falling from her eyes as the man on the other end told her of the plane crash in Moscow. Her parents hadn’t made it. Emily dropped the phone and sunk down on the couch, putting her face in her hands and sobbing. Matthew picked up the phone and spoke to the person on the other end, ending the call and sat next to her. He tried to put his hand on her shoulder to comfort her, but she shifted away from him. She had known and trusted Old Matt her whole life, but even when he tried to touch her, it awakened a deep pain in her.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Emily. If you need anything, just ring for me.”
He said

“Thanks,”
she said. She really just needed to be alone for awhile. She would have to tell her sisters soon.

The next week was a blur. She was too busy planning funeral arrangements and taking care of things at Shale Industries. Her parents had left her everything. Within the span of a week, she was promoted from Junior Associate to CEO of the company – becoming one of the most powerful women in the world. She owned the Mansion and all of her parents’ assets. The reporters and lawyers were the worst. On top of this, she was trying to grieve, but no one would let her. The reporters came by trying to get a statement on what she would do with the company. She didn’t let them in and avoided them when she had to be in public. It wasn’t long before she hired temporary security to assist her with keeping them away. She didn’t want to be bothered with the press. The lawyers on the other hand, she had to see. The legal ramifications of taking over a multibillion dollar company were overwhelming. Old Matt and Andrew Mitchell, her parents’ former and now her own assistant, helped keep her sane throughout the week. They could tell how stressed she was and know she needed to grieve. They would send her little gifts and responded to whatever she needed even if it was something simple like a candy bar. The client in Moscow had understood and the meeting had been rescheduled for after the funeral. As soon as the funeral was over, she would be flying to Moscow.