"Truth, truth, and nothing but truth."
Uta Hagen, founder of New York's HB Acting Studio and a two-time Tony Award winner for Best Actress, pointed emphatically at her chest with every stressed word.
"Acting isn't lying, it isn't hypocrisy, and it isn't putting on an act. If you have even the slightest thought along those lines, your performance has already failed."
Quirrell nodded earnestly and committed every word to memory.
It was already July 20, and he would meet Albus Dumbledore in just one day.
Today was Quirrell's last acting lesson.
"To conclude, I want to stress once more that acting is an 'instinctive' process, carried out both inwardly and outwardly."
"You don't need to control every tiny movement you make—if you do, you'll look fake. But you can't focus only on your inner self, either, or your performance will lose touch with reality."
"Pay attention to your scene partner and your surroundings. Neither your inner feelings nor your outward behavior should be deliberate; they should be instinctive. As long as they're natural, they're right."
Quirrell nodded solemnly again, looking like a well-behaved, hardworking student. In truth, he was already acting, playing a Muggle who aspired to become an actor.
So far, the results were good.
"That concludes all our lessons. I hope you'll apply my approach to acting in British theater. It's been my honor."
Ms. Hagen smiled at him and declared the lessons over.
Voldemort took control of the body at once, stood up to express his gratitude, and said, "The Riddle Consortium will handle future funding for HB Acting Studio. You have nothing to worry about, teacher."
Ms. Hagen nodded. She said nothing more about the money, merely offering a few more reminders about acting before saying goodbye to Voldemort.
Not long after she left, Voldemort also walked out of 36 Hall Street.
Coleman Street, London.
Surrounded by several people, Voldemort looked up at the new gilded sign on the eight-story building beside him: Riddle Consortium.
"Very good, Pochis."
The praise from Voldemort made the tall, lean Keen Pochis flush with excitement.
He composed himself, gestured for the others nearby to move farther away, then spoke quietly to Voldemort. "Mr. Riddle, about tonight, Piers and the dogs..."
"We'll discuss that later."
Voldemort waved a hand, unwilling to discuss the matter with him just then. "But I will say this, Pochis: you need to be more composed. Otherwise, even if you represent my will, you won't earn everyone's respect."
Keen Pochis looked in the direction of Voldemort's gaze, surprised. Sure enough, several people farther away from them were muttering among themselves. They probably weren't singing his praises.
"I understand, Mr. Riddle." Pochis nodded firmly, then glared at the financial project managers in the distance. They didn't react.
"Come on. Let's go to the meeting."
Voldemort spoke as he strode into the Riddle Building, and the others followed close behind.
In truth, he hadn't bought the eight-story building, which was quite spacious. He had only rented the top floor and acquired the rights to name the building.
They went up to the Seventh Floor and soon reached the conference room. Voldemort took the seat at the head of the table, with Pochis behind and to his side. The others took their seats one by one and began reporting on their progress.
"The insurance company will take another month to set up. For the initial publicity campaign, we've chosen WPP. As for the financial side..."
Voldemort jotted down the key points, occasionally stopping the speaker to ask about things he didn't understand.
As soon as the report ended, the second person was already eager to speak.
"Apple Inc. is going through a slump, but they don't need an infusion of capital. However, when we proposed acquiring technology and investing in it, they approved..."
"Wait."
Voldemort interrupted him. "What do you mean by investing in technology?"
"We acquire the technology and provide it to Apple Inc. at no cost. If it proves useful, we'll receive shares in return, based on the profits it generates or the benefits it brings..."
Voldemort frowned as he listened. As far as he knew, Apple Inc. wouldn't recover from its slump until 1997—he was basing that on the year Steve Jobs returned. Investing in technology for that long, with no guarantee of a return...
"Mr. Riddle."
Seeing Voldemort frown, the manager hurried to explain. "We'll carefully select the technology. And if Apple decides it's useless, we'll transfer it to Riddle Internet Technology Company."
After hearing the explanation, Voldemort reluctantly nodded, accepting the proposal, then signaled for him to continue.
Besides Apple Inc., the other internet companies Voldemort knew about also needed attention. But none of them could be bought up in large quantities just yet, so they could only accumulate shares slowly.
After that manager finished, several more people spoke in turn, covering areas such as:
Banking, mining, real estate, education, science, wineries...
The sheer variety gave Voldemort a headache, but if he wanted to make money, he had no choice but to spread his business interests far and wide. After all, as a time traveler, he had some knowledge that was ahead of its time in all sorts of fields.
If he had to do the work himself, he might not accomplish much. But from a position of authority, he could give direction with considerable foresight.
Besides, these were all investments in the future. He didn't expect them to make money in the short term.
Voldemort had already completed his initial accumulation of capital. The method had been simple and direct: magic.
As a master of Legilimency, he could always find a way to persuade people. Once he convinced one wealthy person, a drop of water would soon infect a river, and a river would flow into the sea...
"Give me your money, and I'll grow it by ten percent compounded annually. We'll sign the contract in the name of the Riddle Family, and you'll have an inexhaustible source of wealth."
Those mesmerizing words made the Riddle Family, which existed only in a few photographs, seem utterly trustworthy.
Tens of thousands in wealth flowed into the Riddle Consortium, allowing the enterprise, founded just two months earlier, to grow at a rapid pace.
As for how he would repay them...
"Our investment company has already put eighty percent of its assets into Soviet Russia. If Soviet Russia really does what you predicted..."
"That's inevitable."
Voldemort coldly cut him off. "Why eighty percent? Why not one hundred?"
"Uh..."
Under Voldemort's gaze, the manager shuddered. He took a moment to recover before speaking. "We wanted to hedge our bets. Ninety percent of the consortium's funds are in Riddle Investment Company, so if—"
"There is no 'if.' I told you."
Voldemort's voice remained icy. Everyone fell silent in fear. "Time is running out. The remaining twenty percent must be invested within a month. Understood?"
The event was drawing near. If they failed to reap the greatest possible benefit, they might never get another chance at such a windfall...
"Y-yes, Mr. Riddle. We'll get right on it."
The manager finished speaking, then hurried out.
Voldemort waved a hand, and the others followed. Only Keen Pochis stayed behind.
"Mr. Riddle, about tonight..."
"We'll discuss that later."
Voldemort waved him off, cutting him short. "Pochis, tell me: how are things between you and Shashulin?"
"Very good."
Pochis answered at once. "He loves money. I didn't keep a single penny of what you gave me; I handed it all over to him. He said he'd let me know in advance next time there's an operation."
Voldemort nodded. "Make sure you stay on top of this. It's very important."
Pochis nodded firmly to show he understood.
"All right."
Voldemort let out a long breath and stood. "Let's go to County Surrey. We can talk on the way about the arrangements for your son, the dogs, and the Dursley family."
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