The Final Preparations

"Truth, truth, and truth."

The founder of the HB Acting Studio in New York, two-time Tony Award winner for Best Actress, Ms. Uta Hagen, jabbed a finger at her own chest with every stressed syllable.

"Acting is not deception, not hypocrisy, not putting on airs. If you harbor even a shred of that mindset, your performance has already failed."

Quirrell nodded earnestly, committing every word to memory.

The date had already arrived at July 20th, with only one day left before meeting Albus Dumbledore.

Today was Quirrell's final acting lesson.

"At the end of this course, I must still emphasize: acting is an 'instinct' accomplished simultaneously from within and without."

"You don't need to control every tiny movement of yours—if you do, it will certainly look fake—nor can you focus only on your inner state, as that will detach your performance from reality."

"Watch your partner, watch the environment. Whether inner feeling or outer behavior, nothing is deliberate; it's all reactive. As long as it's natural, it's correct."

Quirrell nodded solemnly once more, looking every bit the obedient and diligent student—in truth, he was already acting, playing the part of a Muggle aspiring to become an actor.

So far, the effect was good.

"Then, all the lessons end here. I hope you can apply my method of acting to British theater—it would be my honor."

Ms. Hagen smiled at him and declared the course concluded.

Voldemort instantly took over the body, rose to express his thanks, and said, "As for the subsequent funding for the HB Acting Studio, the Riddle Consortium will handle the arrangements. Rest assured, teacher."

Ms. Hagen nodded, said nothing more about money, and merely gave a few more reminders about acting techniques before bidding Voldemort farewell.

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 gleaming new gold-lettered sign on the eight-story building beside him—Riddle Consortium.

"Very good, Pochis."

Voldemort's praise flushed the tall, lean Keen Pochis's face with excitement.

Steadying himself, he gestured for those nearby to move farther away, then whispered to Voldemort, "Mr. Riddle, about tonight's matter, Piers and the dog..."

"We'll discuss that later."

Voldemort waved a hand, declining to go into detail on the subject. "But I must say, Pochis, you need to be more composed. Otherwise, even if you represent my will, you won't earn everyone's respect."

Keen Pochis followed Voldemort's gaze to the side in surprise and, sure enough, the men standing apart were muttering among themselves, clearly not in praise of him.

"I understand, Mr. Riddle." Pochis nodded firmly, then shot a glare at the several financial project heads in the distance, but they did not respond.

"Let's go. Meeting."

With that, Voldemort took the lead and strode into the Riddle Building, the others following close behind.

In truth, he hadn't bought this eight-story, sizable building; he had only leased the top floor and the naming rights to the structure.

Once everyone reached the eighth floor, they quickly entered the conference room. Voldemort took the head seat, Pochis sat slightly behind him to the side, and the others took their places in order, beginning to report on their progress.

"The insurance company setup will take another month. For the initial promotion, we've chosen WPP. On the financial side..."

Voldemort jotted down key points, occasionally stopping them to ask for clarification on information he didn't fully understand.

By the time this person's report ended, the second was already eager to speak.

"Apple Inc. is in a downturn, but they don't need capital injection. However, when we proposed acquiring technology and investing it as a technology contribution, they approved..."

"Hold on."

Voldemort interrupted. "Technology investment—what does that mean?"

"We acquire the technology and provide it to Apple free of charge. If the technology proves useful, we exchange it for shares based on the profits generated or the utility achieved..."

Voldemort frowned deeply. As far as he knew, Apple wouldn't emerge from its slump until 1997—he judged this based on the year of Jobs's return. Such a long-term technology investment, with uncertain returns...

"Mr. Riddle."

Seeing Voldemort's frown, the manager quickly explained, "We'll carefully select the technology. And if Apple decides the technology is useless, we'll transfer it to the Riddle Internet Technology Company."

Hearing this explanation, Voldemort reluctantly nodded, granting his approval, and signaled for him to continue.

Beyond Apple, the other internet companies Voldemort knew of naturally had to be monitored as well. But for now, there wasn't a single one where he could acquire a large stake—he could only nibble away slowly.

After this manager's presentation, several others spoke in turn, covering fields including:

Banking, mining, real estate, education, science, wineries...

The sheer variety made Voldemort's head spin, but to make money, he had to spread his operations wide. As a time traveler, he had some foresight in many areas.

If he tried to do it himself, he might not achieve much, but directing from a high vantage point gave him considerable prescience.

Besides, these were all part of his long-term layout; in the short term, he didn't expect these ventures to turn a profit.

Voldemort had already completed his initial capital accumulation, using a method both simple and direct—magic.

As a master of Legilimency, he always found ways to persuade others. And once he persuaded one wealthy individual, a single drop of water would soon infect a river, and a river would flow into a sea...

"Hand your money over to me, with an annual compound growth rate of ten percent, signed under the Riddle Family name. You will receive inexhaustible wealth."

Those enchanting words made the Riddle family, which had only existed in a few photographs, seem utterly reliable.

Tens of thousands in wealth poured ceaselessly into the Riddle Consortium, allowing this conglomerate, founded just two months ago, to develop at breakneck speed.

As for how to repay the loans...

"The investment company has already put eighty percent of its assets into Soviet Russia. If Soviet Russia truly follows your predictions..."

"This is an inevitable outcome."

Voldemort coldly cut him off and asked, "Why eighty percent and not one hundred percent?"

"Uh..."

The manager shuddered under Voldemort's gaze, took a moment to compose himself, and then spoke, "We wanted to hedge. Ninety percent of the consortium's funds are in the Riddle Investment Company. If anything goes wrong..."

"There is no 'if anything goes wrong.' I've said it before."

Voldemort's voice remained icy, and everyone fell silent in fear. "Time waits for no one. The remaining twenty percent must be invested within a month, understood?"

The moment of that event was drawing very near. If they couldn't secure the maximum profit, getting such benefits again would be...

"U-understood, Mr. Riddle. We'll do it immediately."

With that, the manager hurriedly got up and left.

Voldemort waved his hand, and the others followed suit, leaving only Keen Pochis behind.

"Mr. Riddle, about tonight..."

"We'll discuss that later."

Voldemort raised a hand to cut him off and said, "Pochis, you need to tell me how things are going with Shashulin."

"Very well."

Pochis immediately replied, "He loves money. I didn't skim a single cent from what you gave me; I handed it all over to him. He said he'll inform me in advance before the next operation."

Voldemort nodded. "You must stay on top of this. It's extremely important."

Pochis nodded firmly to show he understood.

"Alright."

Voldemort let out a long breath and stood up. "Let's head to County Surrey. We'll discuss the arrangements for your son, the dog, and the Dursley family on the way."