Narrator 1: Moc Weepe, swindler, murderer, businessman, and newly nouveau-riche wonderboy is arriving now at the Central Vault of the Upper Trust.

[A bocular horse AWOOGA as Weepe’s ride comes to a stop.]

Narrator 2: He has been summoned here by VIP invitation extended only to members of the Upper Trust and other highly-Valorous individuals.

Narrator 1: He can’t quite believe his luck. HIM? A member of Trust society’s highest elite? Extraordinary. He would never have imagined this in a million years.

Narrator 2: And he’s starting to look the part.

Narrator 1: Bedecked in Trust finery,

Narrator 2: he’s got himself a new suit of clothes.

Narrator 1: Mr. Weepe feels like a million bucks, though he doesn’t use ‘bucks’ in any form anymore. His abacus is draped upon him, and it no longer feels quite so alien… in part due to the admiring glances it invites from all individuals he passes today. Everyone on every street corner, in every corridor, in every hotel lobby, in every restaurant, has gazed upon him with true admiration.

Narrator 2: And envy.

Narrator 1: For a guy like Weepe, that feels kinda great!

[Large doors creak open.]

Narrator 1: The Central Vault of the Highest Light is a facility you may recall.

Narrator 3: Federal reserve meets cathedral meets hamster palace. You know the place.

Narrator 1: In our previous visitation to this location we were accompanying Phineas Thatch on the occasion of his ill-fated balancing,

Narrator 2: what he expected to be his breaking-even ceremony.

Narrator 3: But that was just in one side-chapel of this facility. Today, Weepe is being directed toward the main council chambers of the Upper Trust.

Narrator 2: Weepe swaggers with confidence through the doors of the chamber and finds himself in a spectacular triangular room,

Narrator 3: almost as if a triangular prism had been set on its end,

Narrator 2: a triangular council floor in the middle, surrounded by three banks of stadium seating.

Narrator 1: On the ceiling high above, glimmering with multi-colored luminance, a spectacular stained-glass window admitting bright and glorious unlight,

Narrator 2: the shape of the Trust’s sigil etched into its gleaming panes. The chamber is mostly full by now, but members of the Upper Trust continue to arrive and greet each other cordially… yet with knowledge of the gravity of today’s business.

Narrator 3: The Upper Trust is composed of not only socialites and celebrities, but there are notaries here. Business executives. Current and retired Consectors. Upper echelons of the Company. And they’ve all been summoned here today.

Narrator 1: A hundred or more individuals — all Trust society’s most esteemed and Valorous individuals — many of whom you will recognize from the Loxlee Gala all those weeks ago.

Narrator 2: Basically anyone with enough Valor to be part of the Trust’s ruling body. Part of the group whose responsibility and honor it is to make decisions that will affect the fate of the Trust.

Narrator 1: Not all of these individuals are known yet to Mr. Weepe, though many of them are known to YOU. Individuals such as the highly-Valorous Imogen Loxlee.

Narrator 2: By far the most Valorous individual here, and (in case you’ve forgotten) the most Valorous person in the entire Trust.

Narrator 1: Senior Notary Milton Fleit, the highest-ranking notary of the Trust, standing in the center of the chamber, directing traffic and preparing for today’s speeches.

Narrator 2: Mr. Meshkala of the Family, the organization responsible for rescuing and rehabilitating Unlifts.

Narrator 3: There are the Miravette twins, camped out in the nosebleed section, but here nonetheless.

Narrator 1: Former Prime Consector Costigan, now retired but attending today’s events with interest.

Narrator 3: She’s got this badass eyepatch.

Narrator 2: She’s Spahr’s old boss, by the way, who he once served under as an Adsecla before rising to the rank of Consector and then eventually Prime Consector, himself.

Narrator 1: And of course Jonas Spahr himself is here, dressed in his finest and most ceremonial armor.

Narrator 3: And next to him, Imelda Goldfinch.

Narrator 2: As Weepe catches sight of her, she waves at him and excitedly pats the empty spot on the bench next to her, beckoning him over.

Narrator 1: Weepe saunters over to her proximity and makes himself comfortable in the seat beside her.

Narrator 2: (as Imelda) “Oh, don’t you just look a picture of Valor, Mr. Weepe!”

Narrator 1: (as Weepe) “Thanks, Imelda! I couldn’t be doin’ any of this without your great tutelage or guidance. I am most appreciative of all that you’ve done for me.”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Oh, well, I’m only too happy to help! And I hope you’re not nervous. I know this is sort of like your first day at a new job, but just sit back. Observe. Everyone knows that you’re new at this and you’re learning and trying your best!”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Oh, y’don’t need to pander to me, Imelda, I’m not nervous about anything ever. Y’know how it is with me.”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Oh, of course!”

[A bell chimes in the chamber.]

Narrator 3: A gentle chime echoes through the chamber as Milton Fleit stands at his podium and gestures with greeting to the crowd assembled, slowly rotating on the spot to greet all three sides of the triangular chamber.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Oh! Let’s be quiet now. The Senior Notary is bringing the council to order.”

Narrator 3: (as Fleit) “Greetings esteemed members of the Upper Trust. Thank you for being here today. It is my solemn duty as Senior Notary to bring today’s proceedings to order, and I would like everyone’s attention throughout the course of today’s meeting because we have many grave matters to pursue and consider. First, though, I believe we have a new member of the Upper Trust that we are to welcome.” Mr. Fleit shuffles his flashcards for a moment. “We are here to welcome, uh… M… Moaeke… Weepaye, uh, to the Upper Trust. I believe your local notary Ms. Goldfinch has a few remarks. Ms. Goldfinch, please.”

Narrator 1: Muted applause.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Ahem!” Imelda Goldfinch stands, smiling around dimplingly at the rest of the council chamber, and she beckons to Weepe to stand as well.

Narrator 1: (Weep) “Oh, uh, y… hello…” he says, waving one hand jauntily to those assembled.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Yes, hello, everyone! As you know, I am the notary who was assigned to the property of Midst and it is my great honor to have opened the account of our newest councilmember, Moc Weepe, as it is actually pronounced. The newly-Valorous Mr. Weepe was absolutely instrumental in identifying the centerpoint of the Breach route through Midst. With Weepe’s disclosure of the route’s centerpoint, which has long been a frustrating little mystery, we may be able to finally put a stop to organized Breach activity altogether! So you can see why he has been lifted to your Valorous ranks. Everyone give him a warm welcome!”

[Applause.]

Narrator 1: And the welcome is, well, not exactly ‘warm.’ It’s cordial and professional and, uh, subdued. Serious. Weepe nods and bows a little bit, regarding those around him, a tight smile upon his opalescent face.

Narrator 2: Imelda and Weepe are re-seated.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Thanks, Imelda. That was a very nice and kind remarks! I don’t believe anybody’s ever said anything about me quite as nice as this!”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Nothing but the truth!”

Narrator 3: Milton Fleit continues: “Thank you, Mr. Weepe, for your services on Midst and thank you, Notary Goldfinch, for that introduction as well. This is, of course, obviously not the main reason for today’s meeting. Rather, we are here to discuss the Midst problem and all of the parameters thereunto appertaining.”

Narrator 2: Grave murmurs of understanding and nods break out around the chamber.

Narrator 1: Weepe watches all of this with some unease. He nods seriously as well. “Terrible, terrible,” he says, muttering under his breath. “What a shame. That was pretty bad.”

Narrator 2: “Though at least it has thrown a wrench in that Breach problem for the time being,” someone is heard to joke.

Narrator 3: (Fleit) “Though we are still gathering all the facts of the situation, we do have some first-hand knowledge of what transpired to thanks to Consector Spahr, Notary Goldfinch, and the members of the Company who were present on Midst at the time of the disaster. To help contextualize our deliberations today, I would like to state what we know.”

Narrator 1: The Senior Notary pauses deliberately and looks around the room.

Narrator 3: (Fleit) “As a reminder to all assembled, what we are about to discuss here today is of the utmost sensitivity and is not to be shared with the general public until such time as it is calculated to be… beneficial. While we do not know why the moon of Midst — the mica promontory adjacent that was a major feature of the recent purchase of Midst and a significant component of Midst’s value to the Trust — recently exploded. We are not quite sure why. We are still working that out. But with the moon falling into the, uh, well… Fold beneath…”

Narrator 2: The Senior Notary seems uncomfortable with Fold and Fold-related terminology.

Narrator 3: (Fleit) “A natural disaster of gargantuan proportions was created and evidently consumed or is currently consuming the islet of Midst. Sabotage or natural disaster? We are as of yet uncertain, but we do have scouts nearby and hopefully soon additional information to share. In the meantime, we have issued a summons to Baron Kozma Laszlo, the previous owner of Midst, who in fact sold it to the Trust, to help clarify things and see just how much information she possesses on the subject. Until that information comes to light, we have a number of hard and difficult decisions to make.”

Narrator 2: Mr. Weepe glances to and fro throughout the chamber as the elderly Senior Notary drones on.

Narrator 1: This all seems very, very interesting to all those assembled. And indeed it is relatively interesting to Weepe himself. More interesting still, though, is this spectacle before him: this opulent chamber, these extravagant individuals all gathered with grave seriousness to consider this most catastrophic dilemma! Everyone’s taking this… rather seriously! This is quite something. Weepe is intrigued.

Narrator 3: (Fleit) “With some of that context out of the way, I believe Consector Spahr has a few remarks to share. Consector?”

Narrator 1: A small ceremonial chime as Spahr and Senior Notary Milton Fleit trade places in the center of the room. [As Jonas Spahr]: “Thank you, Mr. Notary. As some of you may be aware by now, my former Adsecla, Phineas Thatch, has been relieved of duty due to inexcusably poor performance in his duties on Midst… and his fate and whereabouts are currently unknown. He willfully abandoned his post and disappeared on Midst while investigating a special case related to the decades-old murder of the most Valorous individual the Trust has ever known and may ever know again: the late and great Maximilian Loxlee.”

[Councilmembers gasping in surprise.]

Narrator 2: At this name, awed gasps and significant looks spread throughout the room.

Narrator 3: Everyone’s gaze turns toward Imogen Loxlee,

Narrator 2: sitting dignified and stately in the uppermost seat of the chamber, her Valor today draped around her like a loose shawl.

Narrator 1: (as a councilmember) “Valorous is his memory.”

Narrator 2: (as a councilmember) “Valorous is his memory.”

Narrator 3: (as a councilmember) “Valorous is his memory.”

Narrator 1: These words intoned quietly and chanted throughout the room.

Narrator 2: That’s creepy, Weepe thinks!

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Valorous… is his memory…?” Weepe intones as well, slightly uncomfortably. Spahr continues: “There was an informant on Midst as well, identified as Francis ‘Fuze’ Peabody, a retired employee of the Loxlee Lights company who claimed to possess knowledge of the case… who reached out to us. But before our Company could could make contact with him, he was murdered… leading us to believe that someone on Midst did not want him to talk. Now, we do not yet have any evidence as to WHO killed Mr. Peabody, but it bears mentioning that Maximilian Loxlee’s killer is still, to this day, at large. I have taken over the investigation, but in the meantime I seek the council’s input and direction with regard to how the investigation should proceed next and how Phineas Thatch’s status should be properly affected.”

Narrator 2: Without having to be told, everyone in the chamber turns deferentially toward Imogen Loxlee — being the utmost authority on this case, not only due to her great Valor, but also due to her close and personal relationship to the subject. [As Imogen Loxlee:] “Thank you for your efforts, Consector,”

Narrator 3: Imogen says. Her Valor glitters softly in the prismatic light, surrounding her with a luminous aura.

Narrator 2: (Imogen Loxlee) “Many years have passed since I… since WE… lost Maximilian. Back then, every day that we failed to find his murderer was a torment. But as time went by, I accepted it. I moved on. I even found love again.”

Narrator 1: She looks to the empty chair next to her and smiles faintly.

Narrator 2: (Imogen Loxlee) “Hieronymous could not attend this council meeting today. As you all know, his work often requires him to travel to far-off places like the Delta to help the less fortunate. But I know I speak for both of us when I say: if this painful case must be dredged up out of history again, so be it, and may it finally lead to justice… but we will NOT have Maximilian’s memory dragged through the muck in the process. I do not want an uncontrollable and violent Adsecla to be associated with this sensitive investigation… and personally fully support the divestiture of Adsecla Thatch’s rank and office.”

Narrator 1: “If the tearror hasn’t divested him of more than that already,” a voice in the crowd is heard to murmur.

Narrator 2: Muffled laughter, hurriedly silenced.

Narrator 1: Spahr’s jaw twitches imperceptibly, his face carefully neutral.

Narrator 3: Fleit gestures Spahr out of the podium and the spotlight and as the two change places, Fleit mutters discreetly: “That was not the disaster I thought I was inviting you to speak about. Are you all right, Jonas? Got a little off-message there.” Resuming his position at the podium, Fleit continues: “Yes, most unfortunate. With Thatch missing in action and Midst’s fate uncertain, I’m afraid the Loxlee case, for the moment, has no place on our agenda today, Consector Spahr, but thank you for your service. We do have more pressing matters such as the economic crisis we are currently facing.”

Narrator 2: Consector Spahr nods stiffly and re-takes his seat.

Narrator 1: Further murmuring sweeps the crowd.

Narrator 3: (Fleit) “At this time we shall open up the agenda to recommendations. We are looking for ideas of what can be done to resolve this crisis. The floor is open and we shall proceed in order of Valor as usual. Mrs. Loxlee, do you have anything to add?”

Narrator 1: And at this, Weepe watches with great interest as the assembly begins to discuss solutions to the problem.

Narrator 2: Now keep in mind: the Upper Trust is not composed of elected officials. There are all kinds of people here — those with an aptitude for politics and economics and those who just happen to be Valorous and therefore are part of this council. So there are a lot of different ideas of varying…

Narrator 1: …degrees of quality.

Narrator 2: To put it politely, yes.

Narrator 1: Imogen Loxlee stands from her chair.

Narrator 2: (Imogen Loxlee) “We have recently decided to place a freeze on all new Valor distribution at present. However, this is neither a popular solution, nor one that can be maintained long-term.”

Narrator 1: Nods of assent cascade through the chamber.

Narrator 2: Mr. Delagney of the Delagney Hotel chain speaks up: “Well, uh, the sale of Midst went so well until it did not. Uh, perhaps we could organize the sale of another islet of similar value. I would be, uh, happy to, uh, spearhead this operation by installing a new Delagney location, uh, thereat.”

Narrator 1: Other members of the Upper Trust stand from their chairs, chiming in as well: [As an unnamed Upper Trustee]: “I hear the islet of Middunfold has recently begun to gain some prominence in the region. It could be possible that that might prove to be a favorable investment.”

Narrator 2: (as another unnamed Upper Trustee) “Middunfold? Oh, uh…”

Narrator 3: (as another unnamed Upper Trustee) “Whoever thought of that name!?”

Narrator 1: (as another unnamed Upper Trustee) “That would not be a very optically satisfying investment. The name is too similar to ‘middenheap,’ which means an enormous pile of excrement. I don’t think that would be advisable.” One by one one, proposals are presented. Some reasonable. Some… very much not.

Narrator 2: And to Weepe’s mind, honestly, all completely ridiculous.

Narrator 3: (unnamed Upper Trustee) “We could increase interest on the debt of those with Caenum!”

Narrator 2: (unnamed Upper Trustee) “What about a new holiday where we encourage everyone to perform as many Valorous actions as they can?”

Narrator 1: (unnamed Upper Trustee) “What if we were to issue people additional Valor? Perhaps just mint more?”

Narrator 2: (unnamed Upper Trustee) “What, just MINT more? Are you mad? Can you imagine the repercussions this would have long-term? No, no, that’s completely out of the question!”

Narrator 3: (unnamed Upper Trustee) “Oh, just leave it be. The market will stabilize itself.”

Narrator 1: (unnamed Upper Trustee) “I say, what if we were to declare war on the Delta? That would be most effective!”

Narrator 3: (unnamed Upper Trustee) “Ah, perhaps if we were to slow down the means of acquiring Valor?”

Narrator 2: (unnamed Upper Trustee) “I propose simply a stricter application of Caenum. We need to be cracking down harder.”

Narrator 1: (unnamed Upper Trustee) “Have any of you considered that we might do a Valor buyback? We could remove excess Valor that has been generated and stabilize the market rather simplistically.”

Narrator 2: (unnamed Upper Trustee) “What about a simple policy change?”

Narrator 1: (unnamed Upper Trustee) “By changing the relationship of Valor to Caenum, that could stabilize the relationship as well. At least short-term.”

Narrator 3: (unnamed Upper Trustee) “Eh, the repercussions could be far-lasting!”

Narrator 2: (unnamed Upper Trustee) “Well, well, hang on. Hang on. What about we simply bring back in all those Breach people that were just discovered?”

Narrator 1: (unnamed Upper Trustee) “Absolutely not. Those people are lost to us and Midst, unfortunately, is quite dead.”

Narrator 2: (unnamed Upper Trustee) “Absolutely. I’m not setting foot down there. Not with that tearror doing whatever it’s doing.”

Narrator 3: (unnamed Upper Trustee) “The yield ratio is entirely out of whack!”

Narrator 1: As the members of the Upper Trust brainstorm economic solutions, attention turns at last to Weepe himself.

Narrator 2: He’s just been sitting there, one leg crossed over the other, elbow propped, his lanky limbs draping every which way.

Narrator 1: In fact, he’s begun to pay relatively little attention to all this, his mind spinning off in a number of different directions as the Trust council drones on and on.

Narrator 2: He almost doesn’t realize when it’s his turn to speak and Imelda gives him the tiniest little imperceptible nudge.

Narrator 3: (Fleit) “Mr. Weepe, do you have anything to suggest?”

Narrator 1: Weepe stands, brushing himself off, straightening his tunic, looking around him, gathering his wits.

Narrator 2: Everyone has been very polite so far, but it’s clearly no secret that his curious condition is the object of much speculation and… well… distaste.

Narrator 1: Many in the assembly visibly eyeballing his opalescence. “Ah, well, yes, thank you, uh, everyone, for your very informative ideas,” Weepe says, looking about him, everyone patiently listening and waiting for his input. “Let me ask you one question: if I’m hearing this correctly, it, uh, sounds as though this entire pickle that you’re in is essentially… I would venture to say… a pretty straightforward equity problem, is that right?”

Narrator 2: There are undisguised scoffs at this.

Narrator 3: (Fleit) “That is not entirely correct, Mr. Weepe,”

Narrator 1: Senior Notary Milton Fleit responds.

Narrator 3: (Fleit) “That is generally a financial term and we are obviously in no way discussing the primitive subject of finance. We understand you are new to the Trust and it may take some time to outgrow such outmoded conceptions.”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Oh, no,  Mr. Notary, I would not presume to use the wrong terms. I’ve read my Trustee Handbook most thoroughly,” Weepe says, looking at Imelda and providing a wink. “Heh, heh, heh. Yes, Mr. Notary, I understand that, uh, but let me just inquire one more thing if you don’t mind.” Weepe gestures toward Imogen Loxlee. “This most Valorous man of all time, Maximilian Loxlee…” A series of nods from around the room. “He was killed, you say?”

Narrator 3: (Imogen Loxlee) “Murdered, yes,” clarifies Imogen Loxlee. “Decades ago.”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “I really am very sorry to hear that, madam. My condolences. But your Adsecla, Mr. Consector… he was investigating the suspicious death of Mr. Peabody, who supposedly had knowledge of Mr. Loxlee’s… killer? Yes?” Again, nods around the chamber.

Narrator 2: They’re all wondering what he’s getting at with this slow and ponderous line of questioning through territory that is very obvious and familiar to all of them.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “If I’m understanding my Trustee Handbook correctly: if you were to kill the MOST Valorous man of all time, that would make you the LEAST Valorous person of all time, yes?”

[Lark’s theme begins to play, interwoven with Weepe’s theme.]

Narrator 3: (Fleit) “Yes, that is correct, Mr. Weepe. The section on murder in the Trustee Handbook is extremely clear.”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “And if such a murderer was brought to justice, a comparable magnitude of Valor would be recovered by the Trust, yes?”

Narrator 3: (Fleit) “Yes, that is correct, technically.”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Yes, and you had someone working on this murder case and you left that fellow behind on Midst?” Spahr nods, conceding, looking at Weepe with growing curiosity.

Narrator 2: And Imogen Loxlee observes silently from on high.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “I yield the rest of my time back to you all.” Weepe has a seat.

Narrator 3: (Fleit) “Thank you for your questions, Mr. Weepe. I am obligated to let you know you do have 30 seconds of time should you have economic proposals to make. Do you, by chance?”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Eh, not at this time, Mr. Notary. But thank you. Perhaps later, if I do, I will let you know. I’m just a simple feller from Midst.”

Narrator 2: Well, that was a bizarre detour, but the rest of the council continues on with their deliberations pretty much as though that had never happened… with the exception of Imelda Goldfinch and Consector Jonas Spahr, who have now turned to watch Mr. Weepe, unanswered questions clear on their faces. As debate continues around them, Imedla leans in closer to Moc Weepe. “I see your gears turning. What are you up to?”

Narrator 1: As the conversation is taking place separately around them, continuing in the chamber, Spahr leans across the back of his bench toward Weepe, his eyebrow raised.

Narrator 3: (Spahr) “I’m interested in your line of questioning, Mr. Weepe,”

Narrator 2: the Consector says.

Narrator 3: (Spahr) “Do you have any more insights or suggestions on this case that I should be made aware of?”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Ms. Imelda, Consector, my answer to that is unfortunately ‘no,” Weepe says, shrugging. “But you know who might?”

Narrator 3: (Spahr) “If you’re referring to Sherman Guthrie…”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “I am.”

Narrator 3: (Spahr) “I’ll have you know that I have already spoken to him and we are currently working through a proper investigation. Sherman is not forthcoming about these matters. His situation was previously mishandled from the start and… he has been deemed a non-helpful source in this particular investigation.”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Well, if you really wanna talk to somebody who really knows everybody on Midst, that man is the man you want,” Weepe says, leaning in close to Spahr and lowering his voice. “Listen, I understand you’ve already talked to him. But let ME go speak to Sherman. He and I go waaaay back. He might tell me a few things… that he most certainly will not tell you.”

Narrator 2: Spahr looks clearly doubtful about this, but Imelda looks positively alight with interest.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Trust me, Consector. I know what I’m doing.”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Well, I just KNEW you were one to watch, Mr. Weepe!”

Narrator 1: With the ringing of a chime, the assembly stands around them, handshakes going around the room…

Narrator 2: …having completed an exhausting 45 minutes of work.

Narrator 1: Senior Notary Milton Fleit steps down from the central stand.

Narrator 3: (Fleit) “There shall be a recess. Lots of good ideas today, everyone. Pat yourselves on the back for that. I believe lunch, drunks, and yard games are currently available on the terrace. We shall return later this afternoon. Thank you all.”

Narrator 2: And the starving, exhausted, hard-working Upper Trust council members break for lunch.