After AnimeCon 2: Due Recompense

    They joined her within the elevator together and then watched as she produced an ID badge from her blouse and held it up to the console above the unlit buttons for floors. The device let out an electronic confirmation tone, and the buttons for the first ten floors lit up to show they were now active. Like she had gone through these familiar motions hundreds of times before, Claire hit the 9 button and pocketed the badge with practiced ease, relaxing back against the elevator’s handrail.

    “So,” Claire said as the doors closed. “You’re not quite on Mr. Weschler’s schedule—normally now that would be by appointment only. When you called I decided to make an exception, and we’ll squeeze you in to see him before things get too busy. Is that alright?”

    “Oh um, that’s okay,” Christine hurried to say. “Yeah. And. Thank you. I remember how busy he always was. Is this a bad time now?”

    “It should be alright,” Claire assured her. “Market movement slows down throughout the day somewhat before three o’clock eastern, and then we’ll have a few hectic high volume hours of activity as we react to opportunities or close out positions. I’ll make sure he has enough time to speak with you before then.”

    “Thank you,” Christine said. “And, uh. Congratulations on your uh. You know.”

    “Oh, thank you,” Claire beamed. “I was overdue for this sort of long term investment.”

    Brian and Christine both blinked at her, because the woman’s clinical and rather deadpan delivery was just too hard to read.

    “That was a joke,” Claire clarified with a small smile. “I have another one about her being my little tax reduction, that’s my new ice breaker here around those of us in finance. It’s just fine if you don’t laugh—they really are in bad taste.”

    “Um—haah…” Christine mumbled out.

    Chloe was trying to base herself off of Claire? It’s kind of hard to see, Brian thought. This woman seems like she’s sunk so deep into that mellow sort of mild-mannered ‘professional’ personality that it’s hard to see anything else past it.

    “If you’re not aware, your father was promoted to one of the team leads here,” Claire moved on. “He still does quite a bit of his own trading, but now he also manages a stable of junior traders and oversees their work. Makes sure his team is up to date on the market trends and adhering to a unified trading strategy—he’s the big scary mean boss man who decides to stop their trades and put them in time out for the day, if they’re incurring too many losses.”

    “That’s… good,” Christine said as the elevator ascended. “And, he’s happy?”

    “He is,” Claire confirmed with full confidence, raising up her hand. “That’s my job. To make sure that he’s happy.”

    There was a diamond-studded wedding band displayed upon Claire’s ring finger, and Brian couldn’t help but notice Christine grow increasingly unsettled as she took this detail in. Those vivid red eyes of her flicked from the ring to Claire’s pregnant belly and blinked rapidly as she was forced to mentally reevaluate her father’s ‘personal assistant.’

    “Um,” Christine hesitated for a moment. “Wait, wow. Hah, so does that… mean…?”

    “Yes, you’ll have a little sister,” Claire answered with her same professional smile. “Your father decided to name her Catherine, after his mother—your grandmother. I was hoping you would be alright with this… but I’ll also understand if you’re not exactly thrilled.”

    “Oh, no uhhh—I uh—” Christine visibly floundered at the sudden news. “You’re—you’re really—?”

    “We married this past August,” Claire continued. “No big ceremony—for now—or I would have made sure to invite you. Things have been busy, and your father wasn’t sure how you would react to the news. I’m sure this is all very sudden?”

    “Yes,” Christine nodded with wide eyes. “But still. Congratulations, again. I’m just—wow. This is all very very sudden, yeah.”

    “Well, I don’t intend to be a cruel and wicked stepmother,” Claire said with a small laugh. “You’re already out on your own, besides. Just—if there’s ever anything you need that I could assist you with, please don’t ever hesitate to ask.”

    “Right,” Christine said. “Okay.”

    “I think your father is reluctant to tell you,” Claire said with a quirk of her lip. “I’m interested in seeing if breaks the news to you today, or if he remains quiet about it. As for me—you and I aren’t very close. I can’t afford to keep things from you, because then you might hold it against me afterwards. I value keeping complete transparency… perhaps even to a fault.”

    “That’s good,” Brian spoke up. “I can respect that.”

    It earned him a look of amusement from her which he wasn’t sure how to interpret.

    “Christine, if you’d like to be a part of Catherine’s life after she’s born, I would welcome that and help with whatever needs arranging towards that end for you,” Claire continued. “I don’t have much in the way of family on my side of things, so I’ll appreciate any visits or time you might be able to make. She won’t ever want for nursemaids or sitters, just. Well, I would love for her to have real family.”

    “O-of course, yeah,” Christine said in a total daze. “Yeah.”

    “Well then, that was already everything on my agenda for this!” Claire concluded with a wry quirk of her lip, looking pleased with her own ‘business’ humor. “I’m sure your father will be able to follow up with any other questions you have in regards to that—if he’s daring enough to bring it up. But, if it’s alright—might I ask what the nature of your visit this time is? Was there something urgent?”

    “Uhhh… well…” Christine wore a sheepish look. “Not really? I guess. It’s just… complicated.”

    “Hm,” Claire’s eyes flicked from Christine to Brian and back. “I see.”

    Their elevator finally arrived at the ninth floor, and Claire led them at a sedate pace down a long hallway. Brian wasn’t exactly a stranger to a workplace in a high rise—he had been to visit where his dad worked at his insurance offices several times before. It had been a central floor of countless cubicles ringed by very small private offices which at least had window views—his father had one of those offices, but it had seemed like a pretty modest one. Not a huge corner office, or anything.

    Here, instead of the hushed murmurs of a dystopian cubicle maze surrounded by office overlords like his dad, or even the bustling business of an open office plan with rows of desks everywhere and ringing phones depicted so often in movies and television… it was just the liminal space of a very bland and austere branching hallway, with closed doors for a large number of private offices. As Claire brought them deeper into the building, a door would on occasion have a small glass window inset, and through these they caught glimpses of meeting room tables, with men and women in suits and button-ups often occupying every seat.

    Everything was silent.

    The soundproofing here is excellent, because I can’t hear a thing, Brian observed. THIS kind of quiet in what’s supposedly a high-paced hectic workplace really gives off an ominous, powerful vibe. The doors feel sturdier, the walls seem taller and more oppressive, somehow. Like this is a place where people deal with A LOT more zeroes than ordinary office people or salarymen or whatever.

    “Here we are,” Claire announced, finally stopping at a door which required her to again raise her ID badge up to a sensor. A green diode flashed and the lock clicked, allowing her to turn the handle and swing it open for them.

    “Mr. Weschler? Your daughter and her boyfriend are here to see you.”

    Brian hadn’t been sure where to place his expectations, and was completely stunned as he filed through the door after Claire and Christine and then gently closed it behind him.

    Though they were ostensibly on the ninth floor, the penthouse office here spanned up to occupy an area of the tenth floor as well, because this was a huge enormous space with modern floating stairs that extended out from the far wall and led up to an upper floor loft. Two-story-tall windows with a breathtaking view of the city flanked the main work space, where a U-shaped desk sported a rack of six large monitors—all of which but one were a dark user interface absolutely dense with tables and fields with labels and numbers in gray and red. The remaining screen was the only one in light mode and the only program Brian recognized, displaying the familiar columns and rows of an open spreadsheet.

    Just in front of the large workstation was a smaller desk with only two monitors, presumably where Claire worked if the purse resting there was any indication. The suite also contained a large flatscreen with a couch facing it along one wall like one would see in an apartment, a small kitchenette with a minifridge and sink, and then a ‘foyer’ area right here by the door where two smaller sofas and an armchair were arranged around a coffee table with blank memo pads for small meetings. Taking in all of this sudden opulence at a glance was difficult, because instead his attention was upon the man rising from his swivel chair to greet them.

    “Pumpkin!” Mr. Weschler boomed. “It’s been ages! Wow—look at your hair! Look at us, we match, now!”

    Christine’s father was a very handsome man with short gray hair which was professionally slicked back, while the neatly trimmed stubble of his beard was already completely white. He was slender and muscular, his button-up had several buttons undone at the throat, and sleeves which were rolled up past the elbow to reveal strong arms—this was the sort of wealthy older man who gave the distinct impression of having both a stylist and a personal trainer on call. In Brian’s impression, this older guy with his big smile wouldn’t look out of place on a magazine cover or even in a movie; he radiated natural charm, energy, and charisma.

    “H-hi daddy,” Christine answered in a small voice. “You’re already going all gray…”

    The two hugged, and despite Mr. Weschler’s enthusiasm it was clearly an awkward reunion. The pair seemed to take a moment to process how much older each of them had become, or perhaps they were aghast at how many years had passed so quickly. The father took her by the shoulders to examine her and seemed shocked to find her all grown up, while Christine stiffened in his embrace and appeared just as surprised at how much he had aged.

    “Well, you wear it better than me! Hah,” Mr. Weschler decided with a laugh. “Contacts, too? Is this from—ooh, what did you call it? Costume art?”

    “Cosplay?” Christine supplied in embarrassment.

    “Right, right—it was on the tip of my tongue,” Mr. Weschler said. “Cosplay. You kept saying you would send me pictures! You fibber. I haven’t seen you in so long. Wow. You look great, Pumpkin!”

    “Or, do you still prefer us to call you Chloe?” Claire asked—although from the direction of her bemused glance, it seemed more like a reminder she was providing Mr. Weschler.

    “Just Christine is fine!” Christine hurried to explain. “I, um. I don’t need any nicknames or middle names or anything like that. Not anymore.”

    “And, you must be the boyfriend,” Mr. Weschler released Christine to recognize Brian. “Glad to finally meet you. Call me Bryan, please.”

    “With a Y,” Claire added with a twinkle in her eye.

    “Brian,” Brian introduced himself, offering his hand. “...With an I.”

    Mr. Weschler’s handshake was firm but not crushing, and the man paused in confusion for a moment before realizing what they meant. Still gripping Brian’s hand, the man closed his eyes and reared back to let out an earnest belly laugh. Just past him, Claire was smirking at the way a very mortified Christine was trying to hunch into herself—as if she could will herself into disappearing into the floor. With a grin and a parting squeeze Mr. Weschler then released him so that he could rest his hands on his hips, looking Brian up and down.

    “Brian with an I, yeah, no kidding,” Mr. Weschler barked out another laugh. “Hah, well—I sure won’t forget it anytime soon. Brian with an I, Brian with an eye? You’ve certainly got a good eye! To be dating my daughter. Look at you. Pumpkin? You too, you found yourself a good-looking boyfriend.”

    “Daddy, please,” Christine protested in a feeble voice.

    “Sorry, sorry,” Mr. Weschler waved her off. “Here, everyone grab a seat—Claire shouldn’t be walking about and standing around all day in the first place. Sit, sit. Claire, get off your feet for Christ’s sakes!”

    Claire and Mr. Weschler took one of the foyer sofas, and Christine and Brian sat down opposite them on the other one. There was a peculiar symmetry at play here that made Brian want to wear a wry smile—the number of similarities between himself and Christine’s dad, as well as some resemblance between the way Claire and Christine carried themselves. He wasn’t sure if everyone noticed this the way that he did or if it was appropriate to comment about, and Christine was already almost hiding her face in embarrassment.

    “Okay, so!” Mr. Weschler clapped his hands. “Don’t mean to uhh, cut short all the pleasantries, but this today was unexpected and those jackasses downstairs just throw away our money all day, if I let them. So, what’s up? What’s going on? Pregnant, or getting engaged? Which is it?”

    “We placed bets,” Claire added with a smile. “And, well. Bryan dear, I don’t see any rings, so it looks to me like—”

    “Hut tut tut don’t count your chickens before they hatch,” Mr. Weschler admonished her. “Pumpkin? Go ahead, spit it out.”

    “We uh,” Christine began, blushing furiously. “No, I uh. I came to return this.”

    She withdrew a slip of paper from her pocket and unfolded it to reveal a personal check to the order of sixty-three thousand dollars. With a trembling hand, the check was offered over the coffee table from Christine to her father, and he reached out and took it from her with a frown of confusion. Turning the slip towards Claire so that she could see, a confused frown spread to her as well. After a moment to read it over, they both looked up to Christine for explanation.

    “I’m… returning all of the money you sent me,” Christine said. “I lied about everything. About—uh. Us not finding jobs, us needing help with the bills and everything. W-we were both working. I was at a pharmacy, Brian was driving forklifts. He made more than enough. I lied to you, just to take advantage. And. I’m sorry. I’m very sorry.”

    “Er—what?” Mr. Weschler let out a small laugh, turning a quizzical look towards Claire, whose eyebrows simply rose and the woman shook her head.

    “I um,” Brian spoke up. “As soon I found out, I… said we need to return it. To explain, and apologize. I’m sorry as well, because now it also feels like I was taking advantage of you.”

    “Brian, you weren’t—” Christine shook her head in adamant refusal.

    “So—” Mr. Weschler’s brows furrowed. “You didn’t need the money. You just—”

    “I lied to you,” Christine bowed her head. “I’m. I’m very sorry daddy. I’m sorry.”

    “You say ‘as soon as you found out,’ so—” Claire turned her eyes towards Brian. “Who did you think was paying the bills all of this time, exactly?”

    “I thought that I was,” Brian admitted with a wince. “I—no, I actually was paying the bills, and covering everything.”

    “I-I took advantage of each of you,” Christine explained without daring to raise her head. “Of everyone. Because I was—I’m the worst. Daddy was sending me enough to cover everything… and Brian was actually already covering everything for me. All of the bills. Rent, food. Everything. I um. I wasn’t paying my share for anything at all. I was just stealing from everyone. S-so that all of this money, money I don’t even need was just piling up in my account.”

    “You mean to tell me…” Mr. Weschler growled, his fingers tightening the check in his hands. “...that both of our bets were way off?! Hah, Claire! Looks like you won’t be winning so easily this time.”

    “You didn’t win the bet, either!” Claire pointed out with a sly smile. “We’ll call this one a draw.”

    With that, Claire plucked the check for sixty-three thousand dollars out of Mr. Weschler’s hands, and promptly ripped it down the middle. In front of Christine’s wide-eyed stare, Claire then laid the torn pieces overtop one another and ripped them again, and then again and again until the check was in tiny shreds—the woman had to heave herself forward on the sofa awkwardly with her pregnant belly to ensure both hands were over a waste basket just off to their side. She opened her hands above it, and the little scraps of attempted recompense fluttered into the trash.

    “So yeah, keep it,” Mr. Weschler chuckled. “You’re forgiven? What did you expect me to say? Oh, you rotten thief! Oh, I can’t believe you’ve done this! Oh, you’re JUST like your mother! Sixty grand? Don’t worry about it. That’s barely one expense trip for us out to Qatar for any random conference. Hah, just the fact that you’d come out here to apologize or try to set things right is enough. It means a lot to me, really. I wish you would come by more often. Pumpkin—I’m not worried about whatever you do with the support I send to you, or whether or not you even need it. That money’s for you! I’m proud of you for coming and telling me, for trying to make things right. Good on you for that—good on you both.”

    “O-oh,” Christine said in a small voice, sagging back in her seat.

    “Now, it’s a different story if one of our junior traders downstairs is losing that kind of money,” Claire teased. “Because, sixty-three thousand—”

    “Jesus Christ don’t even get me started,” Mr. Weschler groaned. “They would if I let them, too! We’ve had some days that are almost about that bad…”

    “But those are days,” Claire clarified for Brian and Christine. “You were sent that amount over several years for your living expenses. It’s really not any kind of problem.”

    “It. It feels like a big problem to me,” Christine admitted. “It’s not right, doing what I did.”

    “Maybe so, maybe so,” Mr. Weschler said, sobering up slightly. “But, you’re young. I understand. I’m sure at the time, it made a whole hell of a lot of sense. But, then you get older and think more about it… and, well, here you are. I can appreciate that, Pumpkin. I certainly didn’t get to where I am today without taking advantage now and then, and—”

    “Ahem,” Claire elbowed him in the side.

    “I mean, not to say that…! Well, you get what I mean,” Mr. Weschler chuckled. “In any case, sending you a little bit to help with your situation isn’t breaking the bank for me. I certainly wish you hadn’t felt the need to lie about whatever was going on, but. Well.”

    “I was just… so angry,” Christine said in a small voice. “At everyone. You, and Brian. Men. The world. Th-that doesn’t excuse what I did. Nothing will. Nothing ever will. I—I just had this insane compulsion to try to, to take it out on everyone else. And. I know that isn’t right. I’ve hurt Brian and, um, all the things I did, the way I treated him—”

    “We’ve worked through it,” Brian assured them, giving Christine’s hand a squeeze. “We had our difficulties, yeah. Part of our coming here today was just finishing up the last of those loose ends, I guess. So that we can put it behind us.”

    “I’m so happy to hear that,” Mr. Weschler nodded in approval. “Proud of you both—that’s incredibly mature of you. Hell, that’s more mature than most of the people in this building. How long are you two here for? Have you eaten? Can we do lunch?”

    That last question had instead turned towards Claire, and the woman gave a soft shake of her head.

    “We have a meeting written in for lunch,” Claire said. “They can’t be here for that, in case anything discussed is sensitive.”

    “I’m not afraid to have lunch twice!” Mr. Weschler chuckled, patting his rather trim stomach. “See if we can find time. I’d love to get to know Brian with the good eye better. And, I haven’t seen my Christine in ages, feels like! We’ll have to get a picture of the two of us. You noticed our hair’s matching, now? We—”

    A phone on the big workstation desk began to ring, and Claire immediately tried to wiggle herself forward on her seat to start getting up.

    “Stop that, you stay,” Mr. Weschler pulled her back. “I’ve got it, I’ve got it. Good lord. Pumpkin? Brian? Sorry, this might just be a minute.”

    They watched as Claire let out a small sigh and acquiesced to his instructions, settling back into her spot on the sofa. Mr. Weschler stood and hurried around the sofa over to his desk to retrieve a smartphone resting there, and for a moment an awkward silence ensued as the man accepted the call and spoke with someone in brusque tones. A minute passed, and then two—Mr. Weschler held the phone to his ear with one shoulder as he leaned over his desk to click through different menus and check numbers.

    “He didn’t say a thing about the marriage,” Claire confided in them with a smirk. “I think he wants to play his cards closer to the chest this time. It’ll have to be our little secret, for now.”

    Seeing that her dad was now engrossed in his phone call and had even slipped into his swivel chair so that he could type with both hands, Christine sighed and gave the woman across from her a slow nod.

    “I am happy for you,” Christine said.

    “I’d hoped you would be,” Claire smiled. “What was it you used to say? Back just a few years ago? That him and I should get together? That we were just perfect for each other? That you—what was it. ‘Shipped us?’”

    “Ugh,” Christine groaned in embarrassment, hiding her face. “I’m. I’m sorry for that. I was a teenager. I—I don’t know what I was thinking.”

    “Well, things worked out,” Claire said, toying with the wedding band on her finger. “I’m sure you’re wondering what happened with Rick? My old fiance.”

    “You ah, you don’t owe me any explanations, or anything,” Christine assured her. “You’re all adults. Everything was—it was all none of my business in the first place, really. I was just being nosy. Nosy and cringe. I’m really sorry.”

    “Rick was cheating on me,” Claire said in a matter-of-fact tone. “It wasn’t just once or twice, either. I stayed with him anyways, because at the time… I didn’t have anyone else. Anything else. Right then I wasn’t quite ready to let your father swoop in and rescue me from myself. Though he was certainly trying. As ever, I was a victim of my own pride—and suffered dearly for it. It’s not a life lesson that can really be explained to someone, only experienced.”

    “Oh…” Christine sounded dumbfounded, and Brian couldn’t think of anything he could say to that, either.

    “From all the magic coursing through you, I have to assume you already know exactly what I mean, though?” Claire asked in a low voice, turning a meaningful look towards them. “I see you found your own Master to help you sort it all out?”

    “What—” Christine froze in place.

    Brian’s own thoughts weren’t any better, as everything in his mind seemed to screech to a crashing halt.

    “The last thing your father will do is pry into your… delicate circumstances, but we’re not blind,” Claire said. “You do seem genuinely comfortable and happy with your Brian, so I have to think he’s not a bad sort. I was concerned my Bryan would have more of a reaction, but finding your Master to be so honest and upright? It’s better than he hoped for, to be honest. The protections your father put on you were stifling your growth, I think, so seeing you free of them, Christine? And doing so well for yourself? Well. We should be congratulating you both. Needless to say, Brian—Mr. Weschler is certainly impressed with your eyes.”

    “You’re a Master,” Brian finally said. “You’re both Masters?”

    His initial mild discomfort at the situation with being here and meeting Christine’s dad and stepmother had now escalated dramatically, until it was almost triggering his fight or flight instincts.

    “You don’t need to sound so surprised,” Claire smirked. “Not every Master is some power-obsessed chauvinist asshole controller who only surrounds themselves with slaves and thralls. Brian, you clearly hold Christine in an equitable partnership yourself. It’s rare in the circles, I admit—but not unheard of. I want to assume for Christine this came about after a certain night in this very penthouse several years ago, when she saw a little more than she should have? I know that all of the sudden you became very distant to your father.”

    “I… I saw you two having sex, yes,” Christine admitted, still at a loss. “I don’t think I caught anything… magical? Mystical? Nothing like that. But it did break something inside of me, I think. When I uh. When I saw. All that time I’d been uh, I’d really wanted you two to get together, because I thought you were perfect for each other. And. I don’t know. Something in me just snapped. Seeing him… paying you for sex, it—”

    “What the fuck?” Claire blurted out, looking rattled for the first time. “We didn’t—Christine, your father never, ever paid me for sex. I am not a fucking prostitute!”

    “But—?” Christine paused, bewildered. “I uh. I thought that…?”

    “Fuck me,” Claire groaned, her head rocking back until she was staring up towards the penthouse’s incredibly high ceiling. “You saw him giving me money. Didn’t you.”

    “You uh,” Christine let out a nervous laugh. “You had said double for tonight, b-because you weren’t comfortable? With uh, with doing it while I was there. Which—”

    “He wasn’t fucking paying me for sex, he lost a bet!” Claire hissed out in aggravation. “We made—we make stupid little meaningless bets with one another! All the time. Little pointless wagers. For fun. We’re betting our own office’s petty cash fund—it doesn’t matter whose hands it’s in, when the bets are between us, because it’s just for the office here.

    “Even back then, we—fuck,” Claire swore, crossing her arms. “I knew this was going to come back to haunt us someday. Fuck. I remember that one, even—I bet him that he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of me, even though you were going to be staying up there in the loft. We wound up doing it twice, so of course I would win double, it’s the way we—fuck, I can’t believe this.”

    “Everything alright?” Mr. Weschler called over, standing up from his desk.

    When Brian looked over at the girl seated next to him, Christine’s eyes were blank and hollow—it appeared like her very soul had left her body.

    “I… shoot, I just remembered that I need to pick up some of those updated tax forms from downstairs,” Claire shifted forward in her seat as though to get up. “We needed their signatures. Remember? I think I’ll have to cut this short today. It was so nice meeting you though Brian, and—”

    “Hey, hey, no problem, I can grab them,” Mr. Weschler said, covering the mouthpiece of his phone with one hand. “You stay put. I needed to pop down there for a second anyways. Pumpkin? You guys can help yourself to the little fridge there, we have all sorts of drinks and things. Should just be a few minutes. Busy time of day!”

    “S-sure,” Christine said, exchanging a look with Claire. “Thanks?”

    In no time at all, Mr. Weschler had slung a lanyard with an ID badge around his neck and bustled past them out the penthouse door, still talking on his phone. Brian and Christine watched with wary eyes as Claire settled back into her seat.

    “Your policy was always total transparency, huh?” Brian asked with a wry smile.

    “I did leave some forms downstairs,” Claire scoffed. “Intentionally. I always do. In case we would need to step away for a moment or require any excuse to cut things short. Keep it in mind, because it’s a polite strategy to break up awkward situations when meeting with other Masters. Since we so often can detect lies, false statements, or unsubstantiated excuses. It’s better if certain things are discussed between us alone, because my Bryan does not need to be fretting over his sex life in front of his daughter. Agreed?”

    “Okay,” Brian said. “Not my place to say anything, really.”

    “I guess… I guess I just don’t understand,” Christine admitted, looking defeated. “Any of it. You two being Masters, even. If… if you’re a Master, if you both are, if you have all of that power—can’t you do anything? Anything you want? Doesn’t it make all of this, your jobs in finance here, um, doesn’t it trivialize all of that? Somehow? If you can just conjure up money, or manipulate your way to riches and success or—”

    “Uh no?” Claire explained, giving them both a baffled look. “There is a regulatory body which governs major disruptions. Especially those of the financial sort. Working in finance we can toe the line, sure, but we’re very careful to never cross it. Resources and information should have been made available to you, when you became a Master?”

    There was a moment of incredible heart-freezing tension before Brian decided to simply come clean—there would be no way to hide the truth from her, and if she was going to be close with Christine he didn’t like the idea of starting off their relationship with her on the wrong foot with clumsy lies.

    “I’m not a Master,” Brian admitted.

    “Oh, I see,” Claire’s eyes widened slightly in clear surprise. “That’s… fine, I’m in no position to judge you. But, I’m afraid certain Rules do still apply to everyone, even the unaffiliated. Sometimes especially the unaffiliated. So, it’s certainly fortunate that we’re able to have a candid talk today.”

    “So then… I take it you can’t just conjure up money through magic?” Brian ventured a guess. “Or influence people into, I don’t know. Better terms, more advantageous deals, stuff like—”

    “Gains through any ‘extraordinary means’ cannot exceed a certain basic allotment cap,” Claire explained. “Or the balance of the entire world would shift back and forth upon the whims of idiots every few days, cause a constant state of chaos. The Rules prevent that. If you believe nothing else, please believe that capital—yes, all of it— is always watched very carefully for extraordinary disruptions. By more than just electronic systems, or flesh and blood auditors.

“No one gets away with anything for too long. From my understanding, this is one of the primary means through which new Masters are discovered. The current allotment cap along the bottom tier right now is, let’s see—3.2 million USD, each fiscal year? Something like that. This should have been explained to you, even as an unaffiliated. For us in the States, our fiscal year begins with October first.”

    Jesus, Brian blanched. What would have happened if we had let Kelly start pulling winning lottery numbers from one of the alternate futures? Do they have… I don’t know, DIVINERS tracking that sort of thing? Somehow? Artifacts, enchantments? SPIRITS? Fuck, this is all making me more and more paranoid about everything. Although, I guess three million a year, we might have been fine? That’s just like buying a nice house in the city now, right? Yeah, I guess if you can rewrite reality with magic, just getting yourself a house counts as chump change, to them.

    “Okay,” Brian took several more moments to process all of that. “3.2 million. That’s still a lot? Per year.”

    “It is, and it isn’t,” Claire responded with a cryptic smile. “I’m sorry to say that you won’t be able to raise your allotment cap up from the bottom, not without inducting into the Masters. They are very firm on that! From what I’ve been told there are rare allotment exemptions for unaffiliated, but don’t ever expect to hear about one unless it’s for some old monster, or deity, or some kind of force of nature. Which is all none of my business, so please don’t ask.”

    “And… you’re okay with me not being a Master? With us not being Masters. I mean, in general,” Brian ventured. “The only ones we met… left us with a very bad impression. I wasn’t sure if, uh, if we would be like, hunted down, or—”

    “I personally take no issue with the unaffiliated,” Claire said. “We don’t, I should say. Bryan and I. Others surely will? The circles seem to always have different factions in contention about anything and everything imaginable. We’re hardly a monolith, hah. Who met with you about your induction in the first place, if I might ask?”

    “Um,” Christine hesitated, exchanging a glance with Brian. “He didn’t, technically. Brian didn’t meet anyone, he was unconscious. At the time. And. I never caught the one’s name, but he was wearing a suit, and the other, uh, the other one went by ‘Chad,’ he just looked like he was copying the um, the stupid fucking gigachad meme—”

    In an instant the placid smile Claire wore dropped from her face, and the woman jolted up out of her seat with a wobble. The entire room tightened, with nothing perceptibly changing, but at the same time some intangible aspect of everything shrinking in close all around them—Brian suspected he was now sensing magic use itself. The woman put one hand on her bulging stomach with a frown and held up the other hand in the air, gesturing them to a halt before they could rise from where they sat.

    “Don’t say anything else,” Claire warned. “I need to redact your words already. Sit there. Don’t speak.”

    Tension mounted for a full minute as Brian and Christine watched in silent terror. Claire had her eyes squeezed shut and magic swirled and did something, but Brian had no idea what. If this was going south for any reason and she was trying to trap them here, Brian needed to grab Christine and get out. Elevators were probably out of the question, but surely if he found a fire alarm or something the stairwells would unlock and let them escape. Before his racing mind could settle on a plan of action, Claire let out a long sigh and settled heavily back down into her chair.

    “Okay,” Claire said, opening her eyes. “You two are… actually in a lot of trouble. But, we can’t talk about it. Certainly not here! Christ. You would be very wise to never talk about it out loud, if you understand my meaning. I have a great many questions for you which need… immediate fucking answers, but this isn’t the time or place to get into them. Sadly.”

    “A-alright,” Christine said. “Does—does this mean, um, will I be able to talk to my dad about any of—”

    “Brian. Christine,” Claire interrupted, sliding a memopad from the coffee table towards herself and snatching up a nearby pen. “It was very lovely to see you both, but it would be prudent to end things here today. If you haven’t vanished off of the face of the earth in a week’s time from now—which might also be wise to do, but I am indeed not privy to your circumstances, whatever they might be—I will be at the written address at the written time one week from now to meet you.

    “But—” Christine tried to ask.

    “I won’t be offended if you don’t appear,” Claire didn’t allow Christine to interrupt. “Because of my current circumstances, I am partially exempt from immediately enforcing the Rules—I have a baby. Please take all necessary precautions if you do decide to appear there one week from now—I am bound by the Rules, you understand. You do understand?”

    The written note was torn off the memo pad and Claire slid it across the coffee table towards them in a hurry.

    “We understand,” Brian said with a bitter smile, pulling a startled Christine up from where she had frozen on the sofa. “Thank you.”

    Brian didn’t pick up the piece of paper she had offered them, and he wasn’t about to let Christine take it, either. They were absolutely not going to be meeting Claire a week from now. They weren’t ready for that, and even though they did need someone in the know to explain all this bullshit regarding the Masters to them, it wasn’t going to be Claire. She was implicitly telling them that her hands were tied by the Rules, and that it wasn’t going to be safe to even have a discussion with her unless they knew precautions—which they didn’t. His mind was still reeling in circles with all of this, and they had both hurried most of the way towards the door when Claire called out to them.

    “Wait—wait,” Claire said, giving them a pensive look as she held her pregnant belly in front of her. “Listen, uh. You’re going to be alright, right? Tell me that you’re going to be alright. I need to know you’re going to be okay. Your father’s going to fucking lose it. Tell me.”

    “We uh,” Christine paused to share a strained look with Brian. “We’ll manage. Somehow. I know the way out. Goodbye, Claire, and really—congratulations on the baby. On the marriage, on—everything. Take care, and. Take care of my father. Please.”

    “Of course,” Claire replied in a quiet voice. “...That’s my job.”

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