Why had [i]today[/i], of [i]all[/i] the days possible, been the one day that everyone and beyond had decided they needed to speak with him? First, this kid, (named as Andy Hughes by Grant's The Monitor) had decided to motormouth his way in here to ask for funding on a project of one kind or another. Great. It was something he could deal with. Let the boy down easy, or kick him out. Not a huge problem.

After that had been a chemist. The chemist he had asked for. An arrogant young man with a notebook full of ideas that would have to be carefully reviewed. The Monitor named him as Drake Romeros. Formerly worked at a shithouse. Lovely.

And as if that wasn't enough, issue three burst in only a few seconds later. A young woman, flanked by Anton and Randall. Idiots. Now witnesses had seen his dirty works. This was not good. He'd either have to kill them, or swear them to secrecy, then kill them.

His phone rang. [i]What could possibly be going on now?[/i] He picked up the phone, never letting the blank look on his face waver. With a single finger he forestalled any speech by the entourage in front of him. "Grant Anders."

"Really, Grant, you should know who's calling you by now." Angela.

"I'm a bit busy."

"And that's why I'm not inviting you to lunch with me, sir. I just thought you'd want to know that...well, the electrician got hit by a MetPo Skyrider on his way over here. Completely his fault, they assure me. The repairs are going to take a few more hours. I've already lined up a contract, but it will be some time." 'You're welcome' were the unspoken words.

"Anything else?" Grant's fingers tapped together in a random, strange pattern. A thinking movement, something he never noticed until someone pointed it out.

"Lawless is on line four. One of your mob bosses is on line three. The board members are trying to call a meeting to discuss the Improvement Fund project. I have a regional Metropolis Police Captain on line one. Line two is clear, as are six through ten."

Grant wanted to jump out the window and end it right then and there, but he was a man with a mission. "Thank you, Angela. Hold for a second, would you?"

"Of course." The call went into a dial tone.

Grant looked up from the technothrone. "If you could all just wait for a moment, I'll be with you shortly. Anton, Randall? Get out. I'll deal with you later." His hand toyed with the dial to the sonic cannons. The two knew that leaving was in their best interests.

Next wast the Board. He picked up the phone. "Line 2," he said. "Call: Secondary Board Room.". The phone rang only once before being answered. "Hello? Smythe? Hi. It's Anders. We're not holding a meeting to review the IFP. I've looked over the incomes. We're profiting. A great deal. The IFP is my way of giving back. Don't bother me with this again." He refused to let the board interrupt the first part of his company to do good for the world. 

That was always his goal, in the end. It just required focus, dedication, and ruthlessness.

Next was line three. "I'll talk to you later, an interesting proposition is here." Code for "shut the fuck up, there's people in front of me". He hung up. Lastly, the MetPo. "Officer Jameson, how nice to hear from you."

The gruff voice on the other end responded instantly. "It's about time, Anders. We've been waiting to question you about the incident for months!" Ah, the incident. A botched job by his mafia, and now the MetPo was on his case.

"Later, Jameson, I promise you. Good day." He hung up. "Now," he said, looking at the group arrayed before him. Andy, I think-" A lightbulb went off inside his head. Here he had three people. Talented. A filmmaker, a chemist-well, explosives expert, and a climbing painter. He could use this.

"I think Matheson was having an off day. Your proposition is very interesting. I accept. You can head downstairs at your earliest convenience to pick up your first stipend." He tapped in a few keys on the throne. "There it is. The basic monthly funding is thirty thousand omnicredits, so everything you need should be within reach. After the first month, A group of the board members will review your project, and then I will see if we will terminate or up your contract. I expect you to start immediately.

"However, you can't do it alone. These two will help you. On one side, you have an excellent chemist and explosives expert, as I gathered from his file, and on the other, you have a woman with an excellent eye for detail." The meaning was unmistakeable: if Trein kept her mouth shut and worked the job, then she would be allowed to live. "Naturally, both of you will receive your own stipend as well. Mister Romeros, this will be in addition to your salary, so don't disappoint me."

He reached under his desk, pulling out a trio of headsets. "Seeing as I've taken something of a...person interest in this project, I expect regular correspondence. These will show my what you see, and transmit to me what you hear. When you're working, wear them." 
---
After a long moment of reflective silence, he continued, "I've heard that a nearby Metropolis Police station has been dealing in some...uncomfortable enterprises. Weapons trading and smuggling are serious offenses. I suggest you start there. Captain Jameson has been called a snake before, but you may just the three to really catch him on it. You're all dismissed."

Once they had left, he finally opened up line 4. "Skeet Lawless," he said, working the name around his mouth before saying it. "If it's not too much trouble, meet me in my office as soon as you can. I have a proposition for you. Think about this question on your way over: What is it that you want in this life, above all else?" He hung up. Plans made, plans set in motion. Not a bad day.

If only he could get the board off his ass.