Cryoburn - Lois McMaster Bujold [109]
"Cat genes . . . mostly?" said Miles.
She looked rather doubtfully at the mini-sphinx, who stared back sphinxlike. "I would think so. Wouldn't you? I'll tell Mr. Wing you are here, Lord Vorkosigan."
Wing bustled out promptly to greet his self-invited guests. Leaving Roic in the outer office to chat up the secretary, and perhaps exchange riddles with the sphinx, Miles allowed himself to be ushered into Wing's inner sanctum by the man himself and settled in a comfy and elegant gel-padded visitor's chair. Nice corner suite, windows on two sides overlooking the buildings and serene gardens of the complex; Miles was weirdly reminded of Suze's lair.
Wing took a seat behind his big black glass comconsole desk, folding his hands and looking up in wary inquiry. "You say you have an emergency, Lord Vorkosigan?"
Miles picked a sphinx hair off the sleeve of his gray jacket and tried to remember what he was about. "No, I'd say you do." He sat back and scowled, wishing his feet touched the floor.
Wing seemed alert, but not alarmed. "How so?"
"I've spent a few days poking around Northbridge after the conference, and after our conference. Figuring out just what I'm getting into with my new investment. There turns out to be a hitch. Did you know?" Miles let his scowl go suspicious, in hopes of putting Wing on the defensive.
Wing merely said, "Hm?"
Miles reminded himself to keep in character while he delivered the bad news; smart enough to be believed, not so smart as to be a threat. "The structure of my compensation for services to be rendered depends on the value of my WhiteChrys Solstice shares rising, not falling. If they fall, I will be left holding not a profit, but a debt!"
"They won't fall," said Wing confidently.
"I beg to differ. Your parent company, here, is about to suffer a major financial blow."
Wing did not immediately go on soothing him, but said, "How so?"
"You know all those commodified contracts you've bought from NewEgypt? You've been sold a lot of dud dead. It turns out that a particular brand of cryo-fluid on the market between fifty and thirty years ago breaks down after a couple of decades, rendering patrons nonrevivable. Brains turned to slush, as my technical consultant so vividly phrased it. Increasingly, any revivals from that period which used that product are likely to fail. Your patrons' kin are owed back millions in nuyen and all those votes."
Wing's lips parted in genuine surprise. "Is this true?"
"You can check it yourselves, as soon as you point your labs in the right direction."
Wing sank back in his chair. "I certainly shall."
"NewEgypt is your culprit. The commodified contracts scam originated from there, as I understand it-generated by a fellow named Anish Akabane, their chief financial officer."
Wing nodded slowly. "I know him. Clever bastard!" He sounded more admiring than outraged.
"It seems to me you have a clear case against NewEgypt, you and every other cryocorp in Northbridge who's been suckered. You might even combine forces in a joint suit."
Wing squinted in no-doubt-rapid thought. "Only if it could be proved they knew."
"It could be proved they knew at least eighteen months ago. You can certainly bring the bandits down."
Wing held up a hand. "Slow down, Lord Vorkosigan! I share your outrage, but I don't think the course you suggest will work to protect your investment."
Leaving aside the airy nature of Miles's investment. "Sir?"
"This is confidential? You've told no one else?"
"I started with you. I'd planned to go on down the row of every corp in the Cryopolis, after."
"I'm so glad you came to me first. You did the right thing."
"So I hope, but what do you mean?"
"We have to think first of protecting the value of WhiteChrys and the interests of its shareholders, including yourself. First-after checking the facts, of course-we have this clear, if obviously limited, opportunity to unload our own liabilities. It would be the height of irresponsibility