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Troika was still in his bed when a sharp knock on the door stirred him from his peaceful slumber. Looking at the clock, he saw that it was exactly nine in the morning. He was always used to getting up at ten or eleven in the morning on his days off, so it was still too early to wake up by his definition.

"Who...?" the cat wondered for a few seconds until he understood that there was only one animal who would be visiting him at this exact moment.

Troika hastily got out of bed and changed his clothes, then went to answer the door. The familiar face of a snow leopard whom he had acquainted with just last week stared emptily back at him as he opened the door.

"It's time," the snow leopard said, with as much emotion in his voice as a Queen's Guard at Buckingham Palace. The way he put as little effort as possible in showing any feelings reminded Troika that this animal was indeed a mercenary--after all, he was only paid to be the calico cat's bodyguard, not paid to be his friend. "Get your stuff so we can start moving."

"Can I eat breakfast first?"

"I already got some vittles in the car." Buran looked at his watch. "I'd rather not waste any time, if you don't mind."

"In fact, yes, I do mind," the cat said crossly, but he didn't argue. He turned around and grabbed the backpack he had placed by the entrance the night before. Inside, he had stuffed some change of clothes, just in case he had to stay overnight outside. "OK, let's go."

Buran's car was not a gray sedan, nor was it a black minivan--it was a blue coupe.

"You change your car like you change your clothes," Troika commented as he got in.

"It's to prevent anyone from recognizing what I drive," the snow leopard responded. "Especially when I'm working for a high-profile client."

Being awoken at an early hour on his day off, and then getting in a car driven by another animal... Everything seemed like a déjà vu from the weekend before. But unlike the previous drive, Troika knew that this car ride was definitely not going to be as fun, if at all.

The breakfast that day was just an energy bar and a bottle of water which Buran handed to Troika. The bland-looking package of the energy bar--purportedly "strawberry-flavored" according to the text printed on the package--reminded him of an army ration he saw years ago during a visit to a museum.

Unwrapping the energy bar, the cat ate it in silence. The energy bar turned out to be so insipid that he had trouble tasting any of the strawberry flavoring, if there was any at all to begin with.

"Where is this mansion we're heading to?" he asked Buran after he washed the last remaining crumbs of the rather unpalatable energy bar down his throat with a large gulp of water.

"Utah," came the nonchalant response.

"What!"

Troika nearly screamed back. He had imagined the mansion to be in California, somewhere nearby within four or five hours drive from Lagarra, since the will would be read at 3PM that day and the snow leopard came to pick him up at 9AM, leaving less than six hours to get there. From this information, he had deduced that the mansion might be around Fresno if they drove north or San Diego if they drove north. He knew that they wouldn't cross the Mexican border because Buran never told him to bring his passport--unless the snow leopard was willing to smuggle the calico cat out of the country, which would have been a very impressive endeavor in and of itself.

But now that he learned that they would not only cross the state border once, but twice--or even thrice, technically, if they drove on I-15 toward St. George, which would cause them to graze a small portion of Arizona at its northwestern corner--made him start to fret.

"Are you serious?" he asked excitedly, his voice still loud but no longer screaming. "It would take at least six hours just to get to the state border! We'll be totally late!"

Buran wasn't fazed by this. He took out his smartphone and fast-dialed a number without even looking at the screen. The phone was on speaker mode so Troika could hear the ringing at the other side of the line. Then, with a click, someone answered the call.

"Zio. Is Turbo ready to go? The one I asked you to reserve for me," he said without waiting for any response from the other end.

A voice from the other end of the line responded, "Of course. I reserved it under ID number 7, Mr. Jeremiah Rutherford."

Troika frowned when he heard the voice. It was obviously altered, for the voice sounded more like a machine than an actual animal. Although the voice was clear and articulate, it was modified such that it was impossible to tell whether the speaker was male or female, which made the cat feel uneasy.

"Perfect." Buran ended the call.

"Who was that? Zio, you said?"

"They're a hacker I hire for some of my assignments. Especially handy when I need some info real quick."

"They? Is that a team of hackers?"

Buran shrugged. "That's the pronoun they insist on using. Part of my occupation requires me to not ask questions that aren't vital to the mission, so I don't."

"Oh... What was that part about your ID number 7?"

"I have a few IDs with me at all times. They come in handy when I don't want to leave a paper trail everywhere."

He then eyed Troika with a hint of suspicion.

"Do you always ask so many questions to everyone you meet?"

Troika almost smiled at the question, but he merely shrugged. "Not always. Just my curiosity, is all. And don't tell me what it did to the cat, because I'm sick of that old joke."

"I don't tell jokes."

How professional, Troika mused silently.

The car hadn't gone very far before the cat had a hunch as to where the two were heading. The car was traveling in a secluded part of the county located a few miles outside of Lagarra, and although Troika didn't pass by here more than a few times before, he was fully aware of what was in this area. His hunch was strengthened by the sign of "Orville Regional Airport" could be seen behind a tall wall of evergreen trees planted in a row.

The blue coupe turned a corner and arrived at a gated entrance with a security guard stationed in a small booth next to the entrance. A sign on the entrance read, in all-caps: PRIVATE PROPERTY--NO ENTRY WITHOUT PERMIT.

"Permit, sir?" the guard asked as Buran rolled down the window. The snow leopard flashed him something, and the guard nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Rutherford."

With a loud beep, the gate opened, and the car drove into the expansive enclosure located inside. It was the first time Troika had ever been to an airport, and he certainly didn't imagine that his first visit was to be at a private airport.

The snow leopard parked the car and the two walked to the airport terminal building. Upon entering it, Troika was amazed at how fancy the interior of the building was. The floor was made of marble, and the walls were decorated with paintings of different styles. The ceiling loomed high above them and had large windows which allowed sunlight to flow in.

Buran walked to a check-in desk, which looked like the concierge desk of a four-star hotel, and talked to the well-dressed gray fox behind the counter. After checking the ID and some documentation, the gray fox smiled and told the two to wait at the lounge until they get the airplane ready.

So soft was the sofa at the lounge that Troika could not help but sigh softly as he let his body sink into the cushion. Not only were they comfortable, the sofas located in the lounge area, along with the coffee tables they were paired with, were so intricately designed that they could have come from a Wall Street executive's office. Of course, Troika never saw one in real life but he watched plenty of TV series to have a general understanding of those folks' general sense of taste in decors.

To while away the time, Troika grabbed a magazine placed on the coffee table and flipped through its pages. The featured article was about how the terroir of the region in which the grapes are grown affects the quality and style of the wines made from them--a topic that was too bourgeois for Troika to appreciate. Before he could slam the magazine back down on the coffee table in disgust, the gray fox called Buran's alias and told them that their airplane was ready for departure.

Once outside, the cat saw a type of airplane he had never seen before, even on TV. The plane had a long, pointed nose and on each of the wings there was a propeller facing the same direction that the nose was pointing. The airplane had a tail which pointed upward as well as two smaller wings extending from both sides of the base of the tail. Also, there were only five windows on the side, with one at the cockpit, compared to dozens of windows seen on a passenger airplane.

"Wow," Troika muttered. "I don't know anything about an airplane, but that one's really cool."

"I'm glad you like it," the gray fox said with a smile. "It's the finest turboprop we have here for lease. It can fly smoothly and efficiently up to the speed of 400 miles per hour and requires refueling less frequently compared to other planes we have."

"Turbo..."

Troika now understood what Buran meant when he said the word during his call with Zio.

The two climbed the airstair into the cabin of the turboprop, and Troika was faced with another scene of luxury. There was a couch with its back against the wall where the windows were located. A table was placed adjacent to the other wall facing the couch, and two seats--fully cushioned from top to bottom--were placed by the table. A restroom was installed at the back of the cabin, and a small refrigerator was placed behind the seats. Everything was spick and span, with the tabletop sparkling in the sunlight.

"Safe travels," the gray fox called from outside, waving his paw.

Troika turned to see where his companion was going to sit, but he saw Buran enter the cockpit and position himself in the pilot seat.

"Wait, you're flying this plane?" Troika asked, more bewildered than surprised. "You can fly a plane?"

"Do you think I'd be sitting here if I didn't know how?" the snow leopard said, putting on a headset used to communicate with the air traffic control tower.

As soon as the cat sat down and strapped himself to the seat behind the table, the turboprop began taxiing along the runway to position itself for takeoff. Troika couldn't see what the snow leopard was doing in the cockpit, but a few minutes later, the aircraft began to pick up speed, ready to fly into the air any minute.

This being the first time to fly, the cat gripped the arms of the seat in fear, feeling the sweat in his palm as he grinded his teeth and closed his eyes. He felt the speed increase more and more, and then...

The aircraft took off.

It felt like an invisible hand had gently pushed the calico cat against his seat. Looking out the window next to him, Troika saw the horizon rotate, and the ground beneath him got farther and farther away.

"I'm flying," the cat murmured to himself breathlessly. "I'm really flying."

The experience was surreal. There was nobody else in the cabin, and the only other animal on this aircraft was the unfriendly mercenary-turned-pilot in the cockpit.

If driving through the vast desert on the I-15 made him feel lonely, flying on this aircraft far surpassed that. It felt as though the aircraft was like a world of its own, which wasn't wrong in a sense. Driving on a road meant sharing it with other drivers, regardless of how far away they were. He and the other drivers were all part of the same world, standing on the same earth. But now, they no longer shared the road with anyone. He was in a different world from those beneath him.

It didn't take long for the aircraft to stabilize. When he felt that there wouldn't likely be any more angular or vertical movements, Troika heard Buran's voice over the intercom announcing that he was free to walk around in the cabin now if he wished. Troika unstrapped himself from his seat and stood up carefully to take a better view of the scenery below.

It was breathtaking, to say the least.

The aircraft was at such a high altitude at this time that the calico cat could barely distinguish each of the cars driving the roads. They were like small ants scurrying about everywhere to finish their daily tasks. It reminded Troika of how small and insignificant they all were when viewed from above.

With the mountains towering over everything else in the distance, and the vast desert spread across the horizon, the buildings, the towns, and even the skyscrapers of Los Angeles which could be seen afar if one squinted hard enough were no match against the grandeur of Mother Nature's own creations.

However, there was a lingering feeling in his mind as he watched the spectacular view of the land which he was raised in.

"I wish Cas was here to see this with me."

Cas had taken a shift on both Saturday and Sunday. He couldn't come along because he couldn't find someone else to take his shifts for him. If he could, the two of them would have been enjoying this view together, in this little world they had for themselves, only if for just a few hours until they reach the destination.

Troika walked to the small refrigerator and opened it. Inside the fridge were many drinks and some snack, individually packaged. He pulled out a can of soda and a pack of cheese. Sitting down on the couch, he opened the package, popped a cube of cheddar into his mouth, and took a sip of the soda. It tasted good--great, in fact, when compared to the tasteless energy bar that Buran fed him earlier.

He then remembered that Buran hadn't eaten anything that day, as far as he could tell. The snow leopard didn't put anything in his mouth on their way to the airport, and even when he got on the aircraft, he went straight to the cockpit to get the aircraft moving.

Without thinking, Troika grabbed a bottle of soda and a package of salami from inside the fridge and went to the cockpit.

Buran took off his headset as the cat tapped him on his shoulder. "What?" he grumbled.

"I got you some snack," Troika said, showing the soda and the salami. "In case you were hungry."

"I already ate before I picked you up this morning."

"You mean that tasteless energy bar?"

"It has nutrients. That's all I need."

"OK, tough guy." Troika shoved the soda and salami in the snow leopard's paw. "But in case you do get hungry, here's some snack. I don't want you losing focus and crashing this plane."

"Hmph."

"You're very welcome," the cat added pointedly before returning to the cabin.

Despite all the unpleasantness caused by talking with the snow leopard, Troika found himself entertained by the everchanging vista outside. The weather was clear and sunny, so the clouds were sparsely positioned, allowing full view of the ground below and the sky above. He had never seen the sky in such rich blue color, and he greatly enjoyed seeing the ground with patterns formed by the mountains' terrains and a patchwork of open fields interspersed with towns and cities of different sizes.

After about two hours had passed, Buran made an announcement again for the cat to fasten his seat belt because they were preparing to land. Troika immediate strapped himself to the seat and watched as the pilot skillfully flew the aircraft in a curve toward what the cat assumed was the airport. Looking out of the window, all he saw was a mountainous region, equally barren as Lagarra but slightly greener on the ground.

Then, he noticed an area that was obviously unnatural. Located at the peak of one of the mountains was an enclosure whose outer perimeter was defined by a curtain wall. The enclosure was in the shape of a perfect circle, strange and conspicuous in the barren landscape. In the circular enclosure was a runway leading toward a large building which stood in the middle of the enclosure. From high above in the air, the building resembled a Venn diagram, with two circular walls overlapping with each other. The overlapping portion formed the housing portion of the building, and the rest of the area inside the outermost wall was the garden, with green grass and trimmed bushes.

Before Troika could take a better look, the aircraft repositioned itself to be in line with the runway and gradually made its descent. The descending was an entirely new experience different from the takeoff--it was much scarier. Troika could hear his heartbeat quicken as he once again gripped his seat as he gritted his teeth in preparation for the eventual landing.

Once it landed, there was a loud thud followed by the sound of the aircraft screeching to a halt which made all the fur on the cat's body stand on end.

After what Troika felt was an eternity, the aircraft came to a complete stop, and the cat let go a sigh of relief as the snow leopard appeared from inside the cockpit.

"Let's go," Buran said. "They're waiting inside the mansion."

"OK."

Standing up, Troika caught a glimpse of the inside of the cockpit. On the copilot seat were an empty package of salami and a bottle with one-fourth of the soda still inside.

Stepping down from the airstair and back on solid ground for the first time in two hours, Troika had a clear view of the mansion whose roof was the only thing visible from the air.

The mansion itself resembled a piece of modern art. From the ground level, the limestone exterior walls formed two cylinders overlapping with each other, and between the two cylinders protruded a raised portion consisting of at least three floors. The walls reflected the redness of the setting sun, causing the house to give off a sense of foreboding eeriness. Troika was no architect, but he felt that this place looked more like a prison than an actual mansion where rich folks would live.

A middle-aged jackrabbit approached the two.

"Welcome to Mandorla Manor," he said with a bow. He wore a black tuxedo and a pair of white gloves. Troika thought that he resembled a butler from one of those old movies he watched as a kid. "My name is Herrington. I assume you are Mr. Troika Valenki and his acquaintance?"

"Yes," Troika replied, facing Herrington. "I'm Troika."

"Indeed," Herrington replied pleasantly. "This way please. I presume you must be hungry from your journey. We have freshly cooked meals for you two to enjoy."

The jackrabbit led the two inside the sparingly decorated mansion. Unlike the typical mansions owned by billionaires that Troika had seen on TV, the so-called Mandorla Manor was only sparingly decorated. There were no chandeliers or ten-foot-tall paintings that adorned the walls of European manors that were built centuries ago, along with all the other decorations that he expected to find in such a place. In fact, he felt that even the inside of the building resembled a prison.

Inside the dining room, there were already other animals seated at the table. It took Troika only a moment to realize that everyone at the table was feline, and more specifically, a cat. The ages of the cats ranged from early twenties to middle ages.

Troika did his share of online research during the last few days about Maddox Weissler. Although it was difficult figuring out which websites listed factual information regarding the scientist and his past, he believed he had a decent grasp of his background and areas of research.

From his research, Troika knew that Dr. Weissler was a British Shorthair, and the older cats in the room definitely bore some resemblance to the late scientist. The younger ones, however, appeared to have physical characteristics of different breeds of cat. To be specific, there were six cats in all, and three of them appeared to be middle-aged, while the remaining three were around Troika's age, give-or-take five years or so. Two of the cats were female, one older and one younger, and the rest were male.

All the cats at the table stopped talking once they saw the newly arrived guest. After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, one of them, a middle-aged tuxedo cat, demanded to Herrington in a harsh tone, "Hey, who are they? I thought we were the only invitees here."

"I'm not attending the reading. I only came to accompany the remaining heir to this room," Buran said before Herrington could respond. "As for this cat beside me, he is also an invitee and legal heir. His name is Troika Valenki, son of Soren Weissler."

"What?" one of the younger cats shouted as he abruptly got up from his seat, eyeing the newcomer askance. He was a tabby cat with well-groomed long fur, who appeared to be about Troika's age. "That's a lie! Dad would never--"

"Lucien," another cat, yet another middle-aged cat but with reddish-brown fur, interrupted in a calm but strict tone. "Take your seat."

"But Dad--"

"Don't make me repeat myself, Lucien." The older cat glared at his son, and the cat who was called Lucien grudgingly sat back down.

"Mr. Valenki," Herrington said to Troika, "please take a seat at the table. As for you..." He moved his gaze to Buran.

"I'm staying," Buran said. "I'm his bodyguard and it's my duty to stay by his side to protect him from danger."

Herrington nodded. "Very well. Please be seated and I'll let the chef know to prepare one more serving of each dish."

As Troika nervously walked to the table and sat as far away from the others as possible, he could feel all the eyes in the room staring at him. The eyes scrutinized his face and body as though he was a rare specimen of sorts, and it made him feel uncomfortable. He was certain that the rest of the members at the table considered him persona non grata, as could be easily deduced from the condescending look on each of their faces.

Buran, undoubtedly noticing the discomfort in Troika's face, took a seat next to him between him and the rest of the Weissler clan, blocking their view with his tall body.

"Thanks," the calico cat muttered under his breath only loud enough for the snow leopard to hear. He got no verbal response but heard Buran huff through his nose as if to acknowledge the comment.

The lunch was carried to the table on a cart, with each plate of entrée carefully covered using a silver cloche--as seen on TV, Troika thought wryly.

The meal itself was very enjoyable--marinated fish with sweet-and-spicy sauce as well as cream soup on the side, complete with a basket of freshly baked bread and the creamiest butter the calico cat had ever eaten. Although he didn't know what type of fish was on his plate, Troika greatly enjoyed every splash of rich flavor that exploded inside his mouth as he savored each bite.

Looking at the rest, he saw that none of them seemed to be fazed by what they ate, which didn't occur to him as odd, since he knew that everyone else at the table--except for Buran, he had assumed--was a multimillionaire of some sort. Even Buran maintained his expressionless composure as he ate, but Troika could see that the stocky snow leopard was constantly looking at the other cats at the table, as if expecting an ambush at any moment.

The lunch was eaten in almost complete silence, and after the dessert plates were taken away, a middle-aged wolf with black-rimmed glasses came into the room. Troika immediately recognized him as Morituri, the attorney he talked with in Buran's car.

"I believe we may start now," the wolf said, clearing his throat. "My name is Takeshi Morituri, and I am the attorney of Dr. Maddox Weissler. I will be reading his Last Will and Testament." Everyone at the table sat up, alert and ready to hear every word the wolf had to say. The wolf surveyed the room and nodded. "Since everyone appears to be here, we shall gather in the conference hall. Please follow me."

The wolf turned around, and the cats followed him as he left the room. Buran, however, was told by Herrington to stay in the dining room since only the rightful heirs were allowed to attend the hearing. Reluctantly, but without protest, the snow leopard watched as Troika left with the other cats.

Once inside the conference hall, which was a large room with a table and a laptop placed on it, the attendees except for the wolf sat down at the table, and the attorney turned on the laptop. He took out a flat circular object from the envelope which he held in his paws. It was a disc, possibly a DVD. He inserted into the laptop, and within seconds, a screen dropped from the ceiling behind him and the hall's lights dimmed.

An overhead projector which also appeared along with the screen turned on to project an image of an old gray cat on the screen, his hollow eyes gazing at nobody in particular.

"Father..." the older female cat murmured. Troika stared at the cat who he learned just today was his grandfather. He didn't feel at all any connection with the cat, but for some reason, he had a nagging feeling that perhaps they had met somewhere long, long ago.

"Hello, my dear family," Dr. Weissler said in a raspy voice. "It saddens me to leave you all behind, but since time is a limited resource, I must eventually move forward to the next stage of my existence--or lack thereof, in fact. With regard to what I am leaving behind, my attorney, Mr. Morituri, will handle the minutiae of property distribution. Specifically, I will be leaving my real estate, which is mainly the Mandorla Manor, and everything within its boundaries to my three children: Dante, Priscilla, and Soren." The cat in the video then chuckled to himself. "Although I doubt you will have any need for such an inconvenient mansion in the middle of nowhere."

"Got that right," one of the older male cats--but not Lucien's father--said bitterly. "We'd be lucky if this estate will sell for anything. Maintaining it in shape will cost a fortune in itself. This mansion would have more value when it's burnt to the ground!"

"Hush, Dante," the middle-aged female cat, no doubt Priscilla, said to her brother.

The elderly cat in the video continued, "But I'm sure that you are most interested in my research, since you may know that I have kept a large portion of my research hidden from the world. And I would like to make this a little game, because as you all know, I love games."

At this moment, the wall behind the attorney split vertically in half, and the split walls were pulled apart to show a machine that resembled an ATM with a larger upright-positioned screen in front, facing forward, and a smaller screen at the bottom, facing up. The upright screen displayed a white box with a word "password" positioned on top in red font. Next to the smaller screen was a keyboard connected to the ATM-like machine. Everyone in the room stared at the strange device.

"This is the terminal which will be used for this game," the elderly cat in the video explained. "The terminal has a biometric sensor which will take the candidate's pawprint and DNA sample from a strand of hair to verify their identity, and after the identity is verified, the candidate will be able to enter the password. I will limit the candidates for this game to my grandchildren: April, Forrest, Lucien, and Troika."

The youngest cats at the table looked at each other uneasily, but by far the most uneasy was Troika. He knew none of his alleged half-brother and half-cousins, but he was now put in a situation where they were to outsmart each other to get an inheritance from a grandfather he had never even met. Everything was too surreal for his mind to process at the moment.

"I am sure that you all are thinking: how am I supposed to know what the password is?" Dr. Weissler went on. "I want to assure you that the password will be clear to you when you uncover more about my past and what I have considered my purpose in life. In other words, this game is my way of making you understand who I am--not only as a grandfather, father, or scientist, but rather a single cat with a single motivation which no one else in my life has yet to comprehend. Thus, this is my first hint: the password pertains to my purpose in life, my goal and desire--one which I dedicated a large portion of my life to achieve."

Several of the cats jotted down those words on a notepad or notebook they had with them. Similarly, Troika repeated the sentence a few times in his head to memorize it.

"Furthermore, I have hidden a second hint in each of your pasts. Unbeknownst to you, I have taken an action at an important point of time during your youth." The cat cleared his throat deliberately to emphasize his next sentence. "The second hint lies in a time of your life--the turning point which defined who you are now. When you find this second hint, it will surely guide you in the right direction for your journey in finding my purpose, and therefore, the password to access my research data.

"Also, to make this game more interesting, I will set the time limit to one month from today. At the end of this one-month time limit--at midnight, to be exact--the terminal will reset itself. Not only will access to the database will be lost, but without the decryption key installed in the terminal, no one shall be able to extract the encrypted research data. Sounds fun, does it not?"

Troika didn't like the teasing attitude of the old cat in the video, like that of a little boy showing his favorite toy to his friends. But as he looked at the other cats around him, he noticed that their eyes were all serious. Was the old cat's research that important to them? He couldn't help but wonder what might be in the data for his heirs to desire them so much.

As if reading Troika's mind, the old cat added in a confident tone, "I assure you that the research which I have kept hitherto hidden remained so for a good reason. The research pertains to a certain field of science which I have gained a great interest in, and I have spent considerable time to perfect the techniques to make it possible. You will undoubtedly find this technique to be not only a groundbreaking discovery but also the discovery that will change science as we know it."

It was quite a grandiose statement, and Troika was almost inclined to brush it off as an old cat's balderdash. But from the earnest looks of his relatives sitting at the table, he understood that the statement was neither a hyperbole nor a prevarication.

"However, I have one final warning to add." Dr. Weissler's eyes turned gravely solemn. "Any great discovery comes with a great responsibility. Only the one who gains access of the data shall have the choice of releasing it to the public, use it for their own good, or to permanently destroy it from the world altogether. If the winner thus wishes, there will be a button which can be pressed to activate the self-destruction code of the data server, completely eradicating its content from the world. Choose wisely."

A short silence followed. Dr. Weissler, after taking a short breath, returned his gaze to the camera. For a moment, Troika felt he saw a hint of affection in the old cat's eyes, affectionate but also sorrowful at the same time.

"Good luck."

With those two final words, the screen then went blank.

After the projector stopped and the lights turned back on again, Morituri took out the disc from his computer and turned to everyone at the table.

"And that is Dr. Weissler's message to you," the wolf said. "As you may have guessed, neither I nor any member of my law firm knows the password to the terminal, and Dr. Weissler told me that there is no backup of his research data. So, whenever you figure out what the password is, please feel free to come to this room and enter it into the terminal. The terminal also includes a USB slot for you to connect a removable hard drive for copying the data."

The wolf stopped talking.

"Any questions?" he asked. When nobody uttered a word, he nodded satisfyingly. "Then we may adjourn. Mr. Dante Weissler, Ms. Priscilla Weissler, and Mr. Soren Weissler, please follow me to the adjacent room to discuss the matter regarding the real estate. As for Ms. April Weissler, Mr. Forrest Weissler, Mr. Lucien Weissler, and Mr. Troika Valenki..."

He smiled in a way similar to Dr. Weissler did at the end of his video, and concluded the meeting with the same two words:

"I wish you...good luck."