Business block, Zithen family complex, State Zhyphrese, Draconian continent Voldage, and the Year 2041, Planet Grimoire.
When had all those well-made plans gone awry? Bryson Zithen wasn't amused as he sat in his private study. He'd returned home hours ago because it had been pointless to remain. Once Zithen began realizing that no one would follow through on his orders. Now, he had to start over from scratch.
"Greetings, Dyson." He glanced at the other director, who displeasedly regarded him through the video screen.
"To what do I owe this evening disturbance?" Dyson Zithen was clearly not in the mood to talk with him.
Bryson exhaled. "Just listen to me." He requested with lessening patience.
Dyson interrupted him. "I've already heard about the disaster from your ill-advised orders." He folded his arms. "I thought that was to wait after the show began in earnest?"
Bryson shrugged. "I'll admit, it was impetuous of me to have done that." He didn't really care.
Dyson exhaled. "Impetuous, you say," he repeated incredulously. "I don't think you realize just what happened."
Who cares? Bryson didn't say that out loud. He merely lifted his eyebrows when Dyson shook his head in aggravation. "I returned home at the usual time of departure," Bryson shrugged. "I had nothing more to contribute." He was aware of the dinner, but fortunately, all the directors were prevented from attending. That was not something they had to waste their time with. It meant he could dine in comfort with his family for once.
Dyson snorted irritably. "Well, no thanks to your orders, that no one has figured out came from you, yet." He emphasized the last word. "We'll have to audition another forty candidates." Even when Bryson almost choked on his brandy, Dyson kept talking and began coughing from shock.
Dyson added pointedly. "This is all because many candidates were banned and kicked out of the complex for fighting and other unruly behavior."
Huh, Bryson hadn't recalled ordering the candidates to act that foolishly. "I will look into the cause of the unruly behavior." That was as far as he would go.
Dyson shook his head. "Don't bother," his tone was cold and cutting. "Someone will take over for you in this program. You've been cut off as of six p.m. when it became obvious you weren't going to take calls from Director Midda or anyone else."
Six p.m.? Bryson frowned. "That's odd. I had my phone with me." He turned to check his jacket and found that it had been turned off due to a low battery having gone dead. "Oh my, it appears that the battery has died." Bryson plugged it in.
Dyson shrugged. "Too little, too late," he informed Bryson. "You can forget about receiving updates about the program now." There was no little annoyance in his demeanor.
Clearly, Dyson wanted to avoid being given the unpleasant duty of informing Bryson of the worst-case scenario that could've happened.
"Actually, I was going to have to take some time off anyway." Well, now that Bryson had thought about it, it didn't matter in the end. "There were other projects I was beginning to run behind schedule, so this is fine." He still had work he could accomplish behind the scenes that no one would even know was him.
Dyson stared at him coldly. "I would double-check your messages if I were you." He shook his head. "I wouldn't count on remaining a program director for much longer if I were you, Bryson Zithen. You're a disgrace to the surname Zithen at this point." He signed off without another word.
Bryson sighed. "Well, that wasn't pleasant." He'd been upset earlier in the day about the possibility of losing his position as director. Bryson shook his head. "Marilee will see this as a sign of sorts." He rolled his eyes. "Now that I think about it. Perhaps it is better that I no longer involve myself in the politics of this place." His teeth clenched as he thought about all that had gone wrong. "So be it. I will check and see what I missed." He doubted it would really be anything serious.
At least, Bryson hoped it wouldn't be. However, in the passing hours, he learned of some new opportunities. His wife, Marilee, urged him to consider finding something new to do. She wanted out of this isolated, suffocating complex, not to mention that their children needed better role models.
Now, as Bryson checked all his messages, he was annoyed. Need help getting something right? They thought he should clean up the mess they'd made of what should've been simple pranks. A sigh escaped him as he realized what Dyson tried to warn him. "Oh well, I can still get something out of this." Bryson saw how he could recover his dignity and take one last shot at removing that Thera aberration from the show. He still thought that Tae-Jun didn't belong in the complex at all. "Why did Midda think he was worth keeping around?" He figured that all those photos were doctored. Bryson found the sight of him loathsome and revolting.
"Hmm, who else can I use against him that won't come back to haunt me?" He scrolled through the remaining profiles of the candidates who hadn't been kicked out for misbehaving and getting drunk. "Huh? They'd gotten drunk?" Wait a second. How did that happen? Bryson looked over the information. Then he checked all the footage. That's when he discovered he no longer had access to the editing software within the company. "Damn, this is inconvenient." Bryson tapped his jaw. At last, he contacted someone inside the company he rarely used. However, in this case, it was something of an emergency. "Colton? Are you able to speak with me?"
"Yeah, even though you've been formally booted from the company, I'm still willing to do you a last favor." Colton Ripley wasn't laughing at Bryson.
Bryson scowled but withheld a snappy response. He knew better if he wanted Colton's assistance. "I need you to frame that brat, Thera Tae-Jun, and show him doctoring the water with whatever was used to make those candidates drunk."
"No can do," Colton told him promptly. "The real culprit was already caught." He sighed. "I can do this instead. Don't you have a grudge against Cade Odin?"
Oh, that's right. This would be wonderful as a last shot at that photographer and that delinquent. "Yes, that works wonderfully," Bryson told him. "I'll wire you the funds."
"Don't bother," Colton informed him. "I'm doing this because I want to. Don't contact me ever again." The video screen went dark.
Bryson was speechless. Then he shrugged and went through the remaining messages—nothing of importance. He reviewed all the separations noticed and signed off on them.
What annoyed him the most was that he'd have to alert Marilee to their impending departure. She wasn't going to appreciate that at all.