On the interstate outside Aitland City, a convoy raced along at full throttle.
In the middle car, an imposing, powerfully built middle-aged man with full cheeks and high cheekbones raised a hand to accept a cigar from his aide.
The carefully toasted cigar, lightly moistened with liquor, quickly filled the car with smoke as the middle-aged man puffed on it.
The liquor-scented smoke made him lean back comfortably in his seat.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke with seeming indifference.
"That woman still refuses to submit?"
"Things have been going her way lately, and she's started to get carried away."
As the aide spoke, he picked up the ashtray and crouched before the middle-aged man, almost kneeling. Only after watching him flick his ash into it did the aide continue, "Her main sources of support are Meyer and that 2567 who suddenly appeared out of nowhere."
"We've already investigated Meyer. That martial artist is only protecting Ann Rattrich Oaken within certain limits because of an agreement. As long as we don't hurt her, there won't be any problems!"
"As for 2567?"
"He's much more interesting!"
"2567 was unfortunate enough to get caught in the explosion that killed Simid Oaken. He wasn't seriously injured, but he lost his memory. We can be fairly certain his amnesia is genuine. However, while investigating his identity, we found some interesting things."
Holding the ashtray in one hand, the aide picked up a briefcase from the seat with the other, took out the documents he had prepared, and offered them to the middle-aged man.
The middle-aged man took them without opening them and set them aside.
Long familiar with his habits, the aide thought nothing of it.
He continued, "Before losing his memory, Mr. 2567 was unremarkable, no different from any other young man