He sat down at the table, taking in the documentation in front of 
each member. He had received a simple message by email, asking 
him to attend a meeting that afternoon, and to leave the rest of the 
day free. Edward had felt confident that it had been good news— 
recognition of every perfect, unbelievable deal he had made since 
his meeting with Jeremy Marshall. But as the morning had gone on, 
little things had made him feel more and more uneasy—the way Liz 
couldn't meet his eyes, the way David kept pacing back and forth 
between the desks, on several occasions walking halfway to 
Edward's team before changing his mind and walking back. The 
junior associates under him had picked up on the atmosphere and 
begun ribbing him about a coming inquisition. 


"He's done it now! You've made 'em so much cash they want to 
know how you're smuggling that much coke into the country!" 


Now he sat on the opposite end of the table to Raymond Macintyre 
and he still couldn't determine whether he was about to be promoted 
or roasted over a slow fire. 


"Edward," said Raymond Macintyre slowly, "I don't think there's any 
doubt that your trades have been—sensational. From Cholmondeley 
Holdings through to Abacus Productions, you've made the company 
three point one million pounds in profit over the last six months. I'm 
a man of my word, and | haven't forgotten what | said when you 
asked how much you would have to pull in before we bent the rules 
for you and gave you a fast-track partnership." Edward began to pull 
himself up in his chair, eyes bright. "But Cooper Drake is an ethical 
firm, and before we can think about admitting a new partner, we 
need to clear up a few things. Ensure everything has been -" 
Maclntyre loosened his cotton collar slightly, visibly perspiring, "on 
the level." 


Edward immediately modulated his body language—concerned, 
understanding. 


"Take this trade, for example, on the Sixth of November. A ten 
million pound short sale transaction against ACTLE. It was taken out 
twelve hours before the Argentinian government announced the 
nationalisation of Wincanton Oil, a wholly owned subsidiary of 
ACTLE. | have spoken to the heads of both ACTLE and Wincanton, 
and this was news to them until the Minister of Industry made her 
announcement. Now, there's nothing wrong with scooping a firm on 
a political sea change that could affect them. If that's what you did, 
congratulations." 


"| -" Edward began to speak, unsure of what he was going to say, 
but Raymond rode straight over him. 


"Then there's this business over Carmichael & Sons. This is 
especially concerning to me because of the involvement of Gerald 
Spointer, a man whom | believe you may know. Someone—and it 
has not been established with certainty that it was Mr Spointer's 
company that originated these rumours, so to avoid prejudicing the 
partners | shall not mention the name of this company—leaked false 
information to the press about alleged corner-cutting and use of 
cheap materials in C&S's latest furniture range. Now, you sold and 
persuaded other members of your team to sell a total of twenty-five 
million pounds worth of shares in Carmichael & Sons, half an hour 
before the leak went to press. Just prior to this meeting Carmichael 
& Sons' share price has recovered somewhat but it is still 


significantly reduced, most likely as a result of your trades. The 
Director of that organisation is understandably upset that large sales 
were made based on false information and | still have to get back to 
him to justify wny—or even how—that decision was made. There 
are two ways | can get back to him; firstly, that the trade was made 
by our latest partner based on immaculate planning and assessment 
of C&S's long-term prospects and the connection to the dirty tricks 
campaign was coincidental. Or, | could tell him that the shares were 
sold at the insistence of a trader with a personal family connection to 
his competitor, and that the trader has since been disciplined for 
ethics violations." Edward felt a thin film of perspiration forming. He 
hadn't even made the connection between the rumours about 
Carmichael & Sons and Gradley Industries. He wondered if Marshall 
had found pleasure in linking him back to his father's firm. 


"You see Edward, what concerns me most about all these wonderful 
trades is that for the last few weeks there has been almost no 
activity at all on your research pass. When a trade which could be 
construed as potentially based on insider information goes through, 
we like to look at our traders' research logs and see plenty of data 
that shows they've been looking up that organisation's past trends, 
scouring industry gossip, etc. | called this meeting because we 
haven't found anything like that. To get your side of the picture. If 
you can justify your trades, Edward, then a partnership is open to 
you. Right now. If not, we need to think about what we do next." 


Edward's mouth was dry, ashy. He scanned the faces at the table. 
Of course there was no activity; every single trade had come straight 
out of Jeremy Marshall's big bent playbook. Why the hell hadn't he 
thought to cover his tracks? Had he thought Cooper Drake was 
stupid?! He had one tenuous lifeline. 


"Liz," he croaked. He didn't want to say anything more. 


Liz was studiously gazing down at the table, face bright red. "Sorry 
Edward, 'fraid | can't play along on this one. We've been rating 
Carmichael & Sons a strong buy for months. And we had no clue on 
Wincanton." Her voice had a bitter edge to it. "You seem to have 
some insight we don't. Sorry for lagging so far behind you." She 
seemed to shrink under Edward's vaporising gaze. 


Raymond was sighing now, putting aside his paper and reaching for 
a set of other forms. Gardening leave, Edward thought mutely. 
They'd pull apart every email he'd ever made, ransack his phone 
records. When they found out that Western Instruments had 
apparently been a hot tip from Edward's old firm, he'd be finished. 
The whole world buzzed around him, and it was a second before he 
realised that David had weighed in. 


"No, Edward's getting mixed up. There won't be anything on his 
research log because he lost his access card in a taxi. He couldn't 
afford to report it at the time so I've been lending him mine. Sorry, 
it's a breach of protocol, | know." 


Edward was left speechless, as much because it seemed like a 
suicidal gesture as anything. What would that do? They'd just look 
up David's records and find the same absence of evidence. 


Macintyre turned; something weary in his voice. "| see. As you say, 
that's a breach of our policy, David, I'm surprised at you." David 
nodded, almost smiling now. "So you're saying that if we looked at 
your log we'd find excellent, bookmarked documentation showing 
that young Mr Gradley here has exhaustively researched 
Argentinian domestic economic policy and the furniture wars in the 
north of England?" 


David nodded. "Amongst quite a lot of other stuff. You see, | have to 
confess that Edward wasn't the only person | was loaning my card 
to. These things are just so flimsy—and they slide right out of your 
pocket when you're sitting down. Half my team have been using it, 
and Michelle, and Paul." He glared meaningfully at two of the other 
partners, who immediately started nodding their heads. "That's a hell 
of a lot of data to sort through, Raymond. Besides, as lead partner, 
to go through my research logs would mean a formal investigation 
into both Edward and myself. Are we sure that's justifiable?" 


Edward sat, gobsmacked by David Went's audacity. He had 
effectively dared MacIntyre to sack his two most valuable traders, 
and he could see from Raymond's increasingly washed-out face that 
he was in no mind to call David's bluff. 


"As you say, David, | don't think that's warranted. I'm happy to have 


received justification for these trades, and will now move to calla 
formal meeting of the board to admit Mr Gradley as a partner. 
Edward and anyone else who has"—he coughed—"l/ost their 
research passes is to purchase a new one immediately, and | expect 
to see all future trades documented on the right accounts to avoid 
embarassing situations like this in future." 


Macintyre walked over to Edward, whispering something in David's 
ear along the way, and shook his hand. 


"You almost self-destructed there," he said quietly. "I think you owe 
Mr Went a big favour." 


“Almost' never needs apologies,” said Edward evenly. 


"Damn right. Well done, Mr Gradley," MacIntyre said in a louder 
voice, clapping him on the back before opening the door. 


Everyone filed out, Edward's team making distant football- 
celebratory noises when they saw his relief-flushed face. 


"David -" Edward said, grabbing the shorter man's shoulder, "Thank 
you. Why did you do that?" 


David looked at him with a deadpan expression. 


"Because we're friends, | thought. Besides, I'm 2-0 on you now, by 
my reckoning. I'm gunning for the hat-trick." 


He didn't see Elizabeth again until he broke for coffee—she was the 
only other person in the trading floor kitchenette, sitting under a dark 
cloud at the table with a cup of cocoa. 


"Liz?" 


She looked up at him, eyes and nose red. "Guess you want to know 
why | didn't back you up earlier. Well done on the partnership, by the 
way." 


"| kind of do want to know, yes." 


Her gaze carried absolute venom. 


"We never went for that coffee, did we?" 


He saw in that moment that she felt used, had realised the part he 
had made her play in the departure of Peter Davis. Perhaps she had 
even figured out where the Western Instruments tip had come from; 
even now she had refrained from doing the worst she could to him. 
He turned and walked away. 


Death found Edward browsing for ideas for a new car. As partner his 
salary would start at two hundred thousand a year, not including 
bonuses. Right now he was trying to decide between the Porsche 
Panamera and a Toyota FT-86 Coupe. This time they didn't wait for 
him to log onto IRC; they did that for him, opening a new foreground 
tab that jerked him wide awake. 


Death_4H: | see you've been busy 


Edward had almost forgotten about these jokers. They were the 
ones who got him into all this by trying to threaten him over the 
Cholmondeley takeover of Hong Kong Electric. Thoughts of saloons 
vs sports hatchbacks set firmly aside, he began typing. 


EGradley: yes. working for a living tends to imply that. 
what do you do? 


Death_4H: very funny. we said we would be in touch. 


EGradley: still with that? let me guess, you want 
information on Marshall, Carter & Dark 


EGradley: i don't feel like playing 


Famine_4H has joined the channel 
Pestilence_4H has joined the channel 


Death_4H: | know you've been trying to squirm further 
into their confidence because you think it will protect you 


EGradley: I'm pretty sure it does, as a matter of fact. 


Death_4H: you have no idea who you're in bed with 


The children were rowdy when first dropped off, but | had them sit in 
their chairs, and proceeded to play SCP-573 for ten minutes. At the 
first notes, the children immediately relaxed, all tension leaving their 
bodies. | instructed Tom and Cindy through a series of basic 
maneuvers, which they accomplished with ease. | then led Stewart 
and Mariah through some basic math and recitals, which they picked 
up with ease. This should be my easiest project yet. 


Diary Entry 573-5: 


The testing continues apace. Today | had the physical children 
dress in work out clothes, and sent them through some tumbling. A 
close examination of the children proves that their physical 
attractiveness has increased drastically under the influence of 
SCP-573. 


Diary Entry 573-7: 


| couldn't help myself today. Watching these children, knowing that 
they would remember nothing from their time entranced, having 
such control, watching them tease me. They're always teasing, 
teasing, teasing, winking at me, rubbing against me, saying things, 
such things these children say. | had to, | had to show them how 
much pleasure they gave me. Such lovely little bodies, such lovely 
children. They enjoyed watching me, | could tell by the smiles. 


Diary Entry 573-9: 


Those little brats. They've been faking not remembering, | know it! 
When | came into the room today, they were all talking to each 
other. Cindy was holding her fingers two inches apart, and laughing 
about it. | overheard Tom say that even his was bigger than that. But 
they paid for it, oh yes. None of those monsters can lay claim to 
being pure anymore. Acted like they didn't know what had 
happened, but they knew. | could tell they were sorry for making fun 
of me, but they deserved everything they got. 


Diary Entry 573-13: 


It doesn't matter what | do to them, they keep teasing me, keep 
talking about me. These rancid little beasts think they're better than 


EGradley: really? here's a thought: I'll tell you whatever 
you want if you go away 


Pestilence_4H: tell us what you think you know 
War_4H has joined the channel 


EGradley: MC&D the gentleman's club incorporates an 
art brokerage which is a front for insider dealing. 


EGradley: you can earn membership by acquiring 
pieces for resale, which is rewarded with information 


Pestilence_4H: which you've used 

EGradley: definitely did not say that 

Death_4H: try telling us something we don't know 
Pestilence_4H: wasn't a question 

Famine_4H: like the man says 

Famine_4H: no idea 

EGradley: what the hell are you going on about? 
Death_4H: we need to meet in person 

EGradley: not going to happen. 


Death_4H: it will. we're going to expose MC&D and 
you're going to help. 


EGradley: why is that, exactly? 


Death_4H: because, your recent illegalities aside you're 
not actually evil, as far as we know 


Death_4H: when you're ready, you'll figure out how to 
contact us. 


Death_4H has left the channel. 


War_4H has left the channel. 
Famine_4H has left the channel. 
Pestilence_4H has left the channel. 


Well, that seemed to be it. Edward noted that they hadn't tried to 
blackmail him this time, which as far as he was concerned indicated 
they'd waited too long to play their hand. He couldn't decide whether 
they actually knew more about MC&D's activities or whether he'd 
just handed them Jeremy Marshall on a plate; either way, he 
thought, they were more likely to go after someone else now. 


Edward was returning to his apartment after picking up the new car 
—he'd opted for the Porsche—when something struck him as 
slightly off. The door remained firmly locked—all the windows were 
closed, and at first glance nothing seemed out of place, but he had a 
sudden and unmistakable feeling that someone had been there. He 
immediately booted up his computer and checked the access times, 
allowing himself to breathe out as it showed no unusual activity. The 
two encrypted files that now held his strange communications with 
Death and his friends were apparently inviolate. 


He had almost forgotten his worries when he found the card, nestled 
inside his fruitbowl. It was smooth and black, with rounded edges 
and a familiar gold cartouche. This is what the card said: 


Edward Gradley 


You are invited. 


Christmas Ball 
24 December 9.30pm 
London Chapterhouse 


Edward sat for a while looking at it. Did everyone involved with 
Marshall's little club get this special treatment? Or was this a 
warning? 


The twenty-fourth was the busiest Edward had seen the clubhouse 
—though the foyer remained intimidatingly shadowy, the doors were