The smooth rumble of the engine filled his ears, then the quiet crunch of the leather interior beneath his hand, and then his own heartbeat.
Jacques Schnee opened his eyes tiredly, finding himself in the spacious back seat of the car.
His personal driver, dressed in a light-colored SDC uniform with a coat of arms on his chest, sat silently behind the wheel.
Tilting his head toward the window, the man discerned the quiet and dark streets of Mantle, full of bright and acidic signage powered by cheap electric ashes.
Which was clearly evidenced by the periodic and chaotic blinking of many of them.
Passing one just off the road, Jacques rubbed the bridge of his nose, noting the white gloves on his palms.
Strange, he didn't remember wearing them on a daily basis.
"We'll be there in fifteen minutes, sir," the driver reported promptly, giving Mr. Schnee a chance to remember the reason he was driving through the unkept streets of Mantle.
That's right, today was the day he was to attend a celebration in honor of the revolution in Atlas over seventy years ago, after the disastrous outcome of the Great War.
" Alright," Jacques replied dutifully, sinking back into thought.
But this time the possibility was blocked by the second passenger beside him, whose presence he steadfastly ignored.
"Are you just going to go out with that... newfangled eyeliner?" - The woman's enchanting voice addressed him directly with a barely discernible sneer, leaving no chance for him to continue to ignore her.
Chuckling grimly, Jacques turned to the beautiful woman beside him, whose beauty would dazzle the unprepared.
Willow Schnee.
His wife, mother of three, and one of the major shareholders of SDC, whose share went right after him, despite all the attempts he had made to merge their assets or remove her share of the corporation.
Nicholas Schnee provided his daughter with a solid foundation that did not crumble even after his agonizing death from lung cancer within a measly couple of years.
A sad end for such a glorious man who built the foundation of the SDC while being a simple miner and not even having a thousand lien in his pocket.
Which once again confirmed Jacques' belief in the division of people into the worthy and everyone else.....
"Makeup artists don't eat their bread for nothing. So I have nothing to worry about," the man didn't give in to her reproach, returning his attention to the scenery outside the window.
Which didn't please the beautiful woman beside him at all.
"Weiss had a singing exam with Ms. Falz yesterday," Willow informed him casually, monitoring the reaction on his face.
"I know that," he kept his face stoic, realizing where the woman was going with this once again.
"And you weren't on it..." - Willow didn't hold back the condemnation in her voice, to which he had to respond by turning to face her.
"If she requires my personal presence to get positive readings, then I'd start getting seriously worried if I were you," the man sternly cut off all her impending attempts to put him down on this particular pitch.
"She's still a child, Jacques... She desperately needs the attention of both parents, "- Willow didn't see his warning as anything worthwhile. And she was, in fact, right. There was nothing Jacques could do to her. Over the top.
"However, as my memory tells me, you weren't at the event in question either," Mr. Schnee parried, forcing Willow to arch her eyebrows over the bridge of her nose and look away.
" You know I couldn't... Father..." - she didn't manage to finish the sentence as Jacques interrupted her unceremoniously.
"I know. But that doesn't excuse what you said recently, Willow," the successive outbursts led Mrs. Schnee into a logical trap.
"You don't understand - that's different!" - which she tried to climb out of with the help of her famous feminine logic, or whatever else was replacing that trait.
"That's a double standard, Willow. No more, no less," he stamped, dropping the heavy eyelids and resting the back of his head on the padded headrest of the seat.
The woman was extremely annoyed at the outcome of their brief altercation, which they had both stopped counting a long time ago.
Willow turned away from her husband and reached for the mini-bar between their seats, deftly pulling out a bottle she'd opened beforehand.
A second later the burgundy liquid splashed merrily against the walls of the crystal glass in the hands of the beauty.
When she was already planning to return the container to its rightful place, she was suddenly intercepted by a strong male palm.
Under the uncomprehending and even somewhat surprised gaze of the Marian irises the man calmly said:
"Let me, too, my dear," - emphasis on the last word, Jacques not without pleasure contemplated her shocked expression and slightly open mouth, signaling the obvious discomfort of the neighbor.
"Of course, darling..." - she said almost on automatic as she continued to watch his actions.
Bringing the bottle closer to him, he meticulously scrutinized the label, focusing on the producer, as well as the year of harvest from which the ambrosia was created.
"'Mistral's Edge', sixty-ninth year harvest, not bad, but..." - hummed the man, but after some thought, he still set the wine bottle aside for a place in the mini-bar.
And when Willow thought she'd had enough surprises for one day, her husband took out an exquisite decanter of cognac and instantly filled his glass, remembering to put a couple of ice cubes in the bottom.
Jacques Schnee never drank on days of public events!
There were no exceptions for such a thing!
That was what she had believed for over a decade after their marriage, as had many others.
But now... Barely just before the celebration at which the man was to give a speech and also make an important announcement, he... he... he...
What's wrong with him today?!
For the first time in over a decade, Willow Schnee was completely unable to understand the reasons for her husband's actions. Yes, she couldn't understand the whole background before, but she had guessed partly about his motivation, the reasons that motivated him to do this or that action....
But not now...
Today, Jacques Schnee would have time to break her perception of him a few more times. For otherwise he would suffer the same unenviable fate as before.
And Jacques Schnee was anything but an idiot....
***
Alcohol is a drug. Sweet, intoxicating, nullifying, but still a drug.
Among Jacques Schnee's set of rules, the prohibition of alcohol before, during and for some time after significant events was the fifth item, which indicated its obvious importance.
Alcohol is harmful not so much because of the feeling of intoxication, poisoning of the body, as well as a possible hangover the next morning, but rather... mental confusion.
After the first or second glass comes a slight negativity, which is the prerequisite for the subsequent crisis.
A couple of such glasses drunk easily and the language of the reasonable begins to chatter ahead of its owner, shedding light on many things about which the owner of this very organ, would not want to share details under any conditions in a more balanced state.
A drunken businessman carries with him a menace far greater than even if a strike, accident, or some other unpleasantness were to occur in one of his factories.
One ill-timed word, which turned out to be heard by your enemy, and all your fruits of years of labor and perseverance - an irrevocable end.
Jacques Schnee had seen one idiot after another, who had managed to rise from the bottom, unable to keep themselves in check at one ball or another, which led them to a rapid collapse.
Atlas is a place for bastards of all stripes. Snakes as well as hyenas and piranhas.
All the beauties of a society rotten to the core.
But that didn't mean that Jacques himself was a pure and innocent lamb, that he had somehow gotten mixed up with this bunch of moral freaks.
No, he wasn't.
Of all the scum of this society, he stood at the top of the food chain, at the head, being the embodiment of everything vile that could be imagined....
At least, that was his image in the media and among the population.
Jacques took a sip of the tart drink, and the powerful aroma of wood, complemented by notes of caramel and cinnamon, immediately hit his nose, while liquid fire swept down his esophagus, settling at the bottom of his stomach and creating the illusion of scalding heat.
He had to learn to control himself at a very early age, and so, shaking his head frustratedly, the man was forced to return the empty glass to the special compartment above the mini-bar.
It wasn't time to get drunk yet, but his brain still needed some release, which he couldn't deny himself.
A terrible dream, pushing at very, very unpleasant thoughts and images.
And was it a dream at all?
It wasn't every day that you dreamed about your whole subsequent life, with many details, little things and imperceptible accents, which, if you were really dreaming, you wouldn't even remember.
Resting his elbow on the armrest and resting his cheek against his clenched fist, Jacques, with a snort of annoyance, once again shut his closed eyelids off from the outside world.
He didn't give a damn about Willow's expressionless stunned expression.
I didn't care about the upcoming party.
He didn't even care about Mantle and the excited crowds of people who were raving about it!
Right now he had only one difficult and at the same time incredibly simple choice.
Should he believe what he had seen, what he had felt, what he had experienced and lived through?
Or write it off as exhaustion and sleepiness?
The edges of his lips parted in the man's characteristic grin.
Even if he believed it, what then?
To leave everything as it is, thus following the beaten path, already anticipating all the critical dangers that await him....
Or to begin to turn the story to a more favorable outcome for himself now?
The risk of losing the after-knowledge was higher than ever today, but the expected profit could be much higher.
Double or nothing. Victory or death at the hands of Ironwood, White Fang, the Atlas Council, or a very long list of his current and future enemies and detractors.
Jacques had to stake everything he had, including his own position, reputation, and even his life.
One misfire, just one careless step and....
The end.
For some reason, the man believed he couldn't win a third time.
The poker table was ready, both the players and the cheat were ready, all that was left was to wait for the initial bet... which Jacques Schnee did.
In a previous life, he would never have taken such a reckless and frivolous step, preferring to look for shortcuts or a less dangerous scenario for his own well-being.
But now...
"We're here, sir. Mantle Palace," the driver's voice sounded distant, in the periphery, as if from beneath the water column.
"Excellent," the businessman smirked, waiting for him to step around the car and open the passenger door on his side, 'All in then,' he whispered the last phrase under his breath, licking his dry lips nervously.
If he was given the opportunity to choose his death, it would be in a blaze of glory, burning in a fire of applause, shouts from the crowd and camera flashes.
Just like this moment...
"Jacques Schnee! It's the chairman of the SDC! Jacques Schnee!" - the crowd cheered at his appearance.
Journalists did not stop taking dozens of photos to the accompaniment of the roar of the excited residents.
...And I don't care that they were almost completely paid for.
After all, this scene is his playing field, his battle, hidden from most eyes, HIS only way to survive!
***
"Please relax your face and don't move," the pretty olive skinned makeup artist informed him in a commanding tone, bringing a lush brush to his face, to which he replied briefly.
" Sure."
Lurking among Jacques Schnee's rule book number sixteen was a reminder that said never insult, offend, or spoon-feed people in the four professions under any circumstances.
The quartet in question were: a hairdresser, a speechwriter, a doctor, and... a makeup artist.
Not that they could pose any danger to Jacques and his business, but they could pull a very unpleasant trick or deliberately make a blunder while harboring a grudge or resentment against the man himself.
And he had enough of all kinds of scandals, speculations and gossip, most of which were made up out of thin air and had only the intention of defaming his name and throwing him out of his position.
Naive fools.
His lips quivered, but returned to their original position as the man struggled to stifle a laugh.
" Mr. Schnee, I told you..." - muttered a charming blonde woman with an abundance of freckles on her face.
The man turned his gaze to her pouting face and couldn't avoid his own comment.
"Forgive my intemperance," the woman squinted suspiciously and after a second's silence allowed herself a quiet hum.
"Don't make me ask the boys to tie you to a chair and securely fasten your undeniably precious head," Jacques turned his attention to the silent guards at the dressing room door at her words.
He also noticed Willow shooting glances in their direction, which was being handled by the blonde's older colleague, due to her greater workload.
But the reason wasn't because he was prettier than Willow, of course. It sounded more like a joke from a nightmare or a sarcastic issue of the tabloid.
While he only needed a little touch-up to tone his face and smooth out the bags under his eyes, Willow needed to perfect her already charming makeup, make sure it would last through the festivities, and put the finishing touches on it if necessary.
" I will try not to cause any more unnecessary trouble, Mrs...." - Jacques barely arched an eyebrow as he continued to carry on the conversation.
It was never a bad idea to have a professional on his team, and looking at his reflection in the mirror, he could definitely say from a non-professional point of view that the hand of a master was at work.
The once black bags under his eyes no longer looked as distinct as they had before, and the wrinkles that had begun to appear in recent years were definitely just a recent mirage.
Now he was looking at a self-confident man with thick black hair, slicked back and styled with expensive hairspray.
A noble grayness had already touched his temples, as had the tips of his thick mustache, but no more, which made Jacques unable to believe that not so long ago he remembered himself as a gray-haired man, moving steadily toward his fifth decade.
"Ms. Miss Scar, Mr. Schnee," the woman waved her palm in front of his face with an embarrassed smile on her lips.
" I'm beyond surprised, Ms. Scar. I just can't believe that such an outstanding girl hasn't been ringed yet," Jacques paid a small compliment, remembering to analyze the upcoming events in his head and mapping out his possible steps to level the perceived damage.
"You're a sharp-tongued man, Mr. Schnee," the woman said with a satisfied twinkle in her eye as she circled him, remembering to return to her immediate duties.
" That's how I live," he replied, having to shut up again so as not to interfere with the makeup artist's work.
At the same time, he was given another pause, during which he could put everything in its place once again.
So, the Atlas Revolutionary Festival is an annual event that symbolizes a new beginning, as well as the end of the old.
Symbolically, it is celebrated in conjunction with Christmas, and so the general festivities of the people, accompanied by political speeches about the greatness of the new time, glorifying time after time the established regime in the form of the Atlas Council after the dictatorship of the Mantle Kingdom.
Not surprisingly, the upcoming ceremony honoring the revolution was chosen by his enemies to try to destroy Jacques.
As one of the seminal figures of Atlas' business community, he was simply obligated to attend the event.
And this year he had even announced some incredible news, the disclosure of which at this ceremony would affect all of Atlas.
New large deposits of ashes within Solitas.
A continent subordinate to Atlas, and one that already seemed to have uncovered the largest accumulations of such a vital resource for all manner of industry as ashes.
But, as it turned out, the continent held many more secrets, as Jacques had seen when he had recently received a report of a shocking concentration of ash ore in the northernmost mine, where only minor exploration had been done to find other kinds of resources: iron, copper, tin, and so on and so forth.
In his dream, during his speech right after the announcement of the new SDC mining complex, there was a terrorist attack that resulted in dozens of casualties.
Jacques was indirectly suspected of complicity with the attackers because he was completely unharmed among the great number of lightly and seriously wounded participants in the ceremony.
It was nonsense, a pure accident, but people began to actively throw dirt on him.
Everyone joined in: those who cared about the victims, those who were offended by the SDC, greedy competitors, even Ironwood did not take his side, keeping his suspicions to himself and being unsure of anything.
Their friendship was purely formal and James was well aware of how cynical Jacques could be when the situation demanded it.
A case that hadn't happened yet had almost motivated the Atlas Council to investigate Jacques,
and it would have happened if Mr. Schnee hadn't sacrificed his newly acquired ash deposit by giving the rights to it to Atlas.
It was an extremely unpalatable deal, and further increased the grumbling of many about his venality, greed, and other sins and shortcomings.
But those in power were satisfied, and so he got out of the crisis.
He cut off a limb, so to speak, in order to survive himself.
The question was.
How could he avoid the nightmare that awaited him?
The attack could not be thwarted. He woke up with a memory from the dream just before the ceremony.
Trying to inform James or anyone else in security would draw unnecessary attention.
There was no way to transmit information anonymously from the scroll. The scroll was identity-bound, so it would be extremely easy to trace the sender.
And to get an extra, unblocked scroll now, from which it would be impossible to lead the thread of investigation to him....
That was something we could forget about. There was too little time.
Even his very departure from the backstage before the very beginning could be considered a cause for suspicion and speculation, let alone the urgent implementation of the deal, if it still succeeded, of course.
One should not forget about possible blackmail from the buyer, if he managed to put two and two together or found the businessman's behavior suspicious.
And to entrust him with such a task, if you think about it, at the moment there was no one who could keep this secret and not give Jacques away.
So there's no bloodshed to be avoided.
The terrorists, one way or another, are already among the audience, carnivorous, waiting for him to enter the gallery.
And Jacques wouldn't have made any difference, even if he'd been able to warn James and his subordinates. His main concern was still minimizing the damage he'd done.
There was still something he could do, and even try to minimize the negative effects. At least try.
"All done, Mr. Schnee," the freckled blonde smiled brightly at him, contentedly inspecting the work that had been done.
Jacques himself was satisfied with the result, but he wasn't a professional, he didn't need much.
"Thank you again for your work, Ms. Scar. If you have any problems, or simply wish to change employers, my human resources department will be happy to welcome you with open arms," he rose from his swivel chair and deftly handed a strict lacquered business card stamped with the Schnee family crest to the woman from beneath the inner floor of his jacket, for which he received a shocked look from the makeup artist herself and a piercing stare in the back from Willow, who was standing in the distance, ready to go out into the world.
" Thank you very much, Mr. Schnee," the girl bowed to him, giving away her Mistral roots, just as he'd suspected upon first meeting her.
Funny.
"Was that what it took to make a scene here?" - Mrs. Schnee hissed in his ear, just barely grabbing his elbow with her sharp claws.
"Jealous?" - Jacques asked, stone-faced, and received a low growl from his wife.
He hadn't seen her in such a role for a long time. Had she ever shown such a color of emotion in normal times? Very unlikely.
Jacques Schnee would have remembered such a momentous occasion.
Perhaps this was her way of expressing her accumulated irritation and dissatisfaction with his behavior lately.
Yes, it certainly made sense.
However, leaving his wife without any clarification was also not worth it. She might do something else, and then he would have to deal with it.
No, thanks.
"One small favor here, one small favor there. And now, perhaps, my image as a soulless tyrant, bloodsucker and generally a monster in the flesh will partially crack. I can't foresee such a thing, but some generosity on my part doesn't mean anything bad in itself. Consider that I am thus purifying karma, or trying to equalize the evil that I bear by my mere existence," Jacques explained his own thoughts to his wife.
She listened attentively, which was already a good sign.
No matter how much he thought their marriage was part of politics, Jacques had never lied to his wife... Without a good reason.
without a good reason.
Yes, he might have understated things, withheld information, but he had never lied.
Perhaps that was why he'd broken her heart in the not too distant future when she'd asked him, in her vulnerable state, how he felt about her, and when she'd learned the answer, Willow had fallen into an alcoholic slumber, oblivious to everything else.
"I assumed you were completely ignoring all the gossip and info-field throw-ins..." - The woman looked down at him, which almost made her stutter, because Jacques didn't even think about lowering his wide stride.
"Ignoring and ignoring are completely different things, Willow," Jacques told her, gently letting the woman lean on his arm.
He didn't need any more leaked footage of his wife collapsing before the festivities.
The people behind the scenes were not a crowd, but a decent number, and each of them had influence, connections, and resources that were valuable to Atlas in one way or another.
"I'm-excuse me," her spouse murmured, fixing a loose lock of hair from her elaborate hairdo, receiving a nod from him in return.
"It's all right. And besides... It wouldn't hurt to have another professional on her staff if she wanted to get a job at the SDC. Personally, I'd be happy to have more qualified people flowing in than they are now," Jacques grinned predatorily and looked at his wife, a slight chuckle on her lips.
"And if each of them turns out to be beautiful, you'll be jumping up and down on your favorite rug in the study. Wouldn't you?" - The woman couldn't resist a little stiletto, to which he shrugged his shoulders with a brick face.
"I don't rule out that possibility," he replied honestly, noting the way Willow pouted, her whole demeanor displaying aristocratic arrogance.
"Cheating?" - The icy beauty asked sternly, trying to look down at him with squinted eyes as she stood on her heels, but even so she was a full head shorter.
"I promise only to look, not to touch," Jacques said with the most serious expression possible, enduring the testing gaze of Willow's heavenly eyes.
After a brief stare, she nodded in satisfaction, convinced of his pure thoughts, or rather not his pure thoughts, but his lack of intentions to replace her or have a mistress.
And even if he wanted to... Would she be able to stop him?
As Jacques was about to reach for his personal scroll in his suit pocket to take the necessary steps to prepare for the future "fun," they were accosted by a croaky, hoarse voice that sounded like it belonged to some peddler in a crowded marketplace.
"Wai-wai-wai-wai-wai, who do I see! The Schnee couple themselves have decided to welcome our humble celebration by honoring us with their presence!" - An obese-looking man was moving through the rows of VIP guests, scratching his thick sideburns and grinning with his thirty-two white teeth.
If Schnee had known about Grim Souls, a popular game in Vale, he would have recognized the mini-boss music in the fat man's background.
But what wasn't there, wasn't there.
And the two arch rivals had to shine their smiles brightly towards each other, hiding their daggers behind their backs, just waiting for the right moment to stab their interlocutor.
Who said terrorists were his only headache!