The Scorpion in…Consequence and the Fat Cat

Alfrancais Brainvine, the magnate, slurped down another oyster, discarding the shell into a bucket beside his desk. He grabbed a letter opener with his chubby, oyster soaked fingers and with the other, a stack of papers.
     The first letter was doubtlessly another shameless plea from the Victory Arms tenement. They all said the same thing. We have no where to go. How will we live? How will my children survive? Blah Blah Blah. He discarded it unopened.
     “You can’t stand in the way of progress.” Sucking the oyster juice off his fingers, he opened the next letter.
     From Brainvine Paper and Organic Products: “The paper plant burned. All paper production is halted. Eyewitnesses saw a man wearing a red domino mask, gloves and an overcoat shortly before the blaze.” Brainvine stared, unblinking and then picked up the next letter.
     A similar fire occurred at Brainvine Scientific. All was lost. Production halted. The oyster began bubbling in his throat. “No.” he said, reaching for the next letter, and then another; each outlining a similar tragedy: Brainvine Steel, the Rotwang Cannery, a cargo ship, even an off shore company. Everything destroyed.
     The magnate, folded the stack together, laid them on his desk and solemnly moved across his office, to a wooden stand, holding three Japanese blades of different lengths. He selected the tantō , the shortest of them. He exposed the blade slowly. He was resolute. Brainvine’s fat, pink lips curled into a grimace as he walked to the massive window that overlooked the City’s industrial center. After taking off his jacket and shirt, he stood in front of the window, with naked blade in hand. He waited, giving all who might see him time to notice.
     The phone rang. He squinted. Wait. Maybe someone was left; maybe a competitor calling to gloat. The phone must be answered, such was his responsibility. Lowering the blade he picked up the phone.
     “Yes, This is Brainvine.” His voice remained even.
     “Your factories are at full production.” Came the reply.
     “I don’t understand.” Brainvine set the blade down on his desk. His hand began to tremble.
     “The letters are forgeries. Nothing is lost. Now you know how it feels to lose everything.” The voice was full of mock and menace.
     Brainvine glanced down at the blade and felt sick. “What is this? Some kind of object lesson?”
     “That depends on you.” The voice continued, “Spare that fire trap and the tenants who are begging you for their lives. I have evidence you don’t even own the property. Authorities will be called, evidence presented. There will be scandal. Knock that building down and we will meet.” The caller laughed, long and loud.
     The magnate slammed the phone down. After standing still and quiet for several minutes he sat at the desk, and cleared its surface with one angry swipe of his arm. “It’s a simple matter of profit and loss.” Brainvine called the demolition foreman and cancelled the order; next his lawyer. “The barbarians are at the gate.­­