Evelyn Mulciber (bestdefense) wrote in disorderic, @ 2017-10-05 17:20:00 |
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Entry tags: | evelyn mulciber, gwendolyn vane |
WHO: Evelyn Mulciber and pesky journalist David Winter, father to also pesky journalist Gwen Vane
WHAT: An investigation ends badly
WHEN: 1995
WHERE: Mulciber Surveillance and Security
WARNINGS: Violence and Death!
David Winter had spent many nights pouring over every piece of evidence he could find, hunting more, always asking question after question. He’d got into journalism because he didn’t believe in leaving things unanswered or unexamined: it had drove him for years, through his early career at smaller publications, and into the Prophet. His journalistic instinct was undeniable and he’d never been able to leave something that he felt was important to follow through on. It meant that he wasn’t going to leave the question of which business were supporting Death Eaters alone. David had started with public statements, with pureblood owners and pursued it relentlessly. He had a folder filled with notes, timelines, everything he could find without going to the places first. It was only once he had a good, solid idea of where his efforts were best concentrated that David went to scout out places. Mulciber Surveillance and Security was not the first place he found himself at, but David walked in with confidence. He smiled at the receptionist, introducing himself. “I’d like to speak to someone about perhaps upgrading the security at the offices at the Daily Prophet,” he said, smiling lopsidedly. “It’s a very important job, so we’d appreciate talking to someone who can make proper decisions. I’m happy to wait for a while.” And wait for a while he did. Evelyn met with all of her potential new clients, but if one of those potential new clients simply showed up without an appointment, no matter how big or important their business, she was often tempted to make them wait longer out of spite. David Winter of the Daily Prophet was no exception. When he was finally invited into Evelyn's office, he found a well-appointed room that left no doubt who was in charge. Dark wood, sharp edges, oversized but nicely maintained ferns. Evelyn sat behind her overlarge desk as the doors opened, but she rose with an icy smile to greet her new would-be client with a firm handshake and an invitation to take a seat in one of the pair of chairs across from her own. "Can I get you anything?" she asked. "Tea, water?" David was good at feigning patience. It was a skill that came in infinitely handy while he waited and even while he walked into Evelyn’s office, trying to keep his expression as relaxed as possible. His shoulders were tight with annoyance at how long he’d been made to wait, but he tried to ease it out as he sat down in front of the huge desk. “I’d love a water,” he said, with a polite smile. “Thank you.” A brief moment and then David reached into his bag. “Do you mind if I make notes while we talk? I like to keep things fresh in my memory.” Evelyn waved to her assistant, who appeared with a glass of water before closing the doors on her way out. Evelyn sat back down behind her desk. Her suspicion was momentarily raised by the appearance of the notebook, but she smiled and saw no reason to refuse. Reporters and their habits. "Of course," she said. "Now. You're interested in better security for the offices of the Daily Prophet, is that right? What are your biggest concerns?" Closing his fingers around the glass, David took a sip of water before setting it slowly in front of him. “It’s a rather concerning time for journalists at the moment,” he said, as if he was sharing some confidence. “We’re rather worried that we’re vulnerable to any external — or internal — threats. You’ve got a very good reputation. How’d you build it up?” "We're very good at what we do." Evelyn was not one for false modesty. "I put my team through extensive training. We refuse to stagnate and rely only on what's been done before. It is, as you say, a rather concerning time, and in some cases, that requires a new and innovative approach." “I’ve been doing some research,” David admitted, with a smile. He hoped it looked bashful and self-deprecating. “Quirk of the profession, you know. I noticed that, thankfully, no place of business you’ve helped protect have had any of those attacks against them. It’s really what drew me to here. I want to be as protected as possible. So does everyone I work with, obviously, and we felt pretty confident about enquiring here. It seems very safe.” "Well," Evelyn said conspiratorily, "No successful attacks, anyway. We don't really advertise those successes, of course. For security reasons." That she herself had staged those 'failed' Death Eater attacks in order to bolster her reputation with her clients was somehow left unmentioned. "As I said, we're very good at what we do." “Of course,” David said, with a grin. He made a note and underlined it. “How many have there been?” There was only a slight pause before he said, “I won’t ask you to reveal the locations if they want to keep it to themselves, obviously.” Evelyn's smile thinned. She didn't care for reporters, even when they weren't reporting. And she wasn't so sure she believed this young man's stated goals. "I'm afraid I won't be discussing any specifics of such cases without the permission of my clients, Mr. Winter. However, I'm happy to provide references and testimonials to our good work. Besides, we're here to talk about you and your company's needs." “Of course.” David jotted a simple note, a large question mark, and then looked back up at Evelyn. “I’d love some references. Just to be thorough.” He tapped his pen against the paper once, twice, and then said, “I just want to be assured we’re getting the best money can buy. What assurances can you offer?” "You will absolutely be getting the best money can buy," Evelyn assured him. She detailed a few different plans, from those determined to keep out anyone without a personalized security badge to a wand checking system similar to the one used by the Ministry and therefore friendlier to guests — and, of course, more expensive. It was a pat and well-practiced spiel. "And then there is the matter of your reporters in the field," she concluded, glancing down at his pad. "Of course, we can't guarantee the safety of those off the premises, and reporting can be a dangerous job. We do offer company self-defense seminars, if that's something you might like to employ." David nodded along as Evelyn spoke, making short notes at the right places. There wasn’t anything particularly off about what she was saying — everything was fairly straightforward, as far as he could tell, nothing that suspicious. It didn’t change the fact that none of her clients had suffered from a Death Eater attack. Something about it didn’t sit right with him. “I think that could be beneficial,” he said, after she was done. “I know I, personally, don’t know an awful lot of duelling anymore. It’s not something that comes up a lot in my line of work. Maybe you could show us all how you got so successful.” "Oh, my dear, I don't usually teach the classes myself. One must get home to one's daughters once in awhile," Evelyn said. "Still, I suppose I could make an exception." “You could?” David leaned forward. “Your reputation precedes you. It’d be wonderful.” And suddenly, it struck Evelyn what felt off about this conversation. Questions, she was used to. Notes, assurances, references, these were all part of the usual discussion. What Evelyn wasn't used to, with prospective clients, was flattery. Usually, it was on her to impress clients. No one needed to get on her good side. They didn't need to bolster her ego (which was, of course, just fine on its own). Reporters. Her mind quickly calculated what kind of a story he might be pursuing. If he'd wanted an interview, he could simply have asked; Evelyn was not shy. No, he was looking for something else. She only had to determine what. "I think our next step is to look at the Prophet offices directly. We'll put together a proposed plan from there. Would I set up that visit with you directly?" David smiled and inclined his head, as if this was an eventuality he’d expected to come up immediately. He hadn’t. He wasn’t sure how obvious that was, but his smile felt slightly wooden to him. He quickly covered it by ducking his head and scribbling a note: Prophet visit. “Of course,” he said. “I’m arranging everything at the moment. We’re a little short staffed and we’re all pitching in.” David would have to let his boss know. Quickly. “You can owl me anytime.” "Excellent. What other questions do you have for me before I gather those references for you?" Evelyn asked. Are you helping the Death Eaters, somehow? Have you struck a deal with them? How come they’re really leaving your properties alone? What are you doing, why are you doing it? You’re not even a pureblood. David swallowed around the words. “I’d like to know what places you’re most proud of. So I can get a feel for the extent of your work. I’ll make a list of them, I hope you don’t mind.” So it was something about their work, then. Its extent, what they did well. He'd asked about their record with attacks earlier. That was dangerous territory. "Well, we've done some excellent work within the Ministry itself," she said. "I'm sure I don't need to say what a nightmare that bureaucracy is to work with, nor how desperately they need the security. Especially these days. And thwarting that attempt up in Hogsmeade last night against Dervish —" She stopped as if she'd slipped, and let her face fall for a moment before returning to a tight, forced smile. (As if Dervish and Banges would ever have to worry about a Death Eater attack.) "Well," she said, 'recovering,' "I shouldn't be talking about that. Let's see about those references, shall we?" She moved toward a filing cabinet, turning her back long enough to allow him to scribble whatever he thought he may have learned. David had wasted very little time since Evelyn’s tip off in putting together all the information he could about Dervish and Banges, a quick dossier, reaching out to every contact he had to try and find out about a Death Eater attack. Some of them brushed him off, others told him there were always attacks. One or two were more helpful — there’d been a disturbance in Hogsmeade, people were being very secretive about it. It made sense if Evelyn Mulciber was trying to ensure that they didn’t hear about Death Eaters near places her company was protecting, but it seemed a bit neat. He couldn’t let it pass without looking into it. David waited until it was fairly late, the light of the day seeping completely out. The street looked fairly deserted as he approached the property and David took comfort in it. The closer he got to Dervish and Banges the more relaxed he felt. This was going to be fine. He was going to find something — or nothing. He wanted to find nothing. He started by cataloguing the perimeter, his camera out. Every chance he got he took another photo, to document everything (the nothing he was finding so far). He kept moving closer and closer, absorbed in his task as he crouched down and took another photo at something which could potentially, he supposed, be scorched by wandwork. The presence of an outsider near a secured building in Hogsmeade was hardly unusual, even at night when many shops were closed. Local drunks were the most common cause of a blip in the warning system, and on any other night, that was all this would seem to be. Still, Evelyn put a watch on Dervish and Banges for a reason. She put on a disillusionment charm and apparated a safe distance away, so that she could walk over and not be noticed. And there, just as she suspected, was David Winter. Snooping. She watched him silently. Exactly what he was after, she still didn't know, so she might still be able to avoid a mess. Minutes later, David would kick himself for not feeling some kind of disturbance when, really, there was none. He was too interested in what was in front of him. Mumbling to himself, he reached for one of the stones that could potentially have been scorched and pocketed it for further testing. It wasn’t his area of expertise. He started to smile. What Death Eater attack, Mulciber? It would be his crowning triumph. Excitement buzzed through him, a heady wave of cracking something. And that excitement was something Evelyn would not abide. Whatever he thought he knew, she couldn't take the risk that it would go any further. If she was wrong, she could always get him obliviated. Waste not. She dropped her disillusionment charm and popped the thirty feet over for effect. Then, her tone low and murderous, "You've made a serious mistake." David dropped his notebook and then scrambled for it, even as he tried to twist, turning away from the voice. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he felt fear lurch through him. “What?” he asked, dumbly. “What?” He turned to look at Evelyn and desperately stumbled backwards over his own feet. She disarmed him quickly, pulling the wand toward her with an accio and in a swift movement, clasped his wrist and disapparated them both away. Snugly secure in a sterile, sickly-lit room with no discernible exits, Evelyn crossed her arms and leaned back against a table. David Winter, stuck to the chair and helpless as he was, wasn't going anywhere. As his temporary blindness wore off, she gave him a moment to take in his surroundings -- and the fact that she stood before him with no attempt to hide who she was. "What were you doing snooping around my client's property?" she asked, eventually. "You may as well tell the truth this time." The panic that had seized David had been whole and oppressive. He couldn’t breathe properly, he couldn’t see, he couldn’t move beyond struggling with binds that held him in place. David couldn’t stop thinking about his family: Violet, his children, his brother. Every thought hit him heavily. David could hear his breath, erratic and too fast, as he looked at the person in front of him — tall, blonde, definitely Evelyn Mulciber. Something else clutched at him. “I was looking around,” he said, because he didn’t know what else to say. “To see how good your security was. This isn’t standard, is it? Kidnapping?” "We deal with threats as we see fit," Evelyn said. She never took her eyes off him; she seemed never even to blink. "And what did you find?" “Nothing,” David said, after a brief moment of silence. “There’s no evidence of an attack.” He was bound to a chair and someone who was almost definitely Death Eater affiliated at least was standing over him. He pulled at the binds again. “What did you do?” "I tested you to see what you really wanted," she said, simply, "Because it wasn't a Mulciber security system. My dear, let me give you a tip. The contractor you're trying to hire should be the one flattering you, not the other way around. Now. The best way out of this for you is just to be honest about what you're working on. I promise, I will find out one way or another, and you won't care for my other options." David didn’t care for anything at the moment. A chill ran down his back and he tightened his hands into fists. He could feel sweat lashing from his temples and he closed his eyes briefly. “I was trying to find out why Mulciber Security was so safe,” he said, in a halting tone. “I wanted to know. People wanted to know why. You have good stats.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “Is it because you kidnap anyone who comes near them?” "No, dear, you're a special case." Evelyn wove a whispered incantation, and the binds at David's wrists and ankles started, ever so slowly, to tighten. "You couldn't just accept that we're good at what we do, could you. You couldn't leave well enough alone. My clients are certainly happy with it." David winced as the pressure on the bonds started to increase. It wasn’t a lot, it wasn’t that it hurt instantly: it was what it represented. He felt something snag in his chest, a wild, overbearing panic and he started to pull at them, obviously. “Let me out of here. This isn’t — I don’t know what you’re doing but I don’t belong here. Let me go, please.” "So you can go and tell the world to put me and my company under a microscope? Dig up all my little secrets? I don't think so." And Evelyn was presented with quite the conundrum, then. David Winter didn't know much, but his drive to learn more wasn't going to go away. She couldn't obliviate that out of him; if anything, it would make that drive stronger trying to fill in missing pieces. He wasn't a threat yet, but he would be. And that could not be allowed. So it was settled, then. She smiled. "After all, no one would hire a Death Eater to protect their home." A noise left David, unbidden, a ragged, dry gasp. He didn’t want to hear it, he thought suddenly and wildly. He didn’t want someone admitting that they were a Death Eater to him while he couldn’t move, couldn’t run, couldn’t fight back, couldn’t write about it. He’d know, but no one else would. He looked up at Evelyn with dread lodged in his chest, sharper than any glass, worse than a wound. David thought about Violet’s face and the soft way she smiled when she was happy. “Don’t tell me. If you’ll let me go, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know more. Let me go and I’ll go home and I won’t write about any of it.” "That seems unlikely," Evelyn understated. "Besides, Mr Winter, even if I wiped it all from your memory, you'd find a way back here. Reporters don't just stop right at the edge of their big story." She pushed her way up onto the table, sitting there as casually as if they were discussing Quidditch, or weather charms. "You'll want to know all about woman who's been a part of it all since the very beginning. You'll try to expose how she exploited her clients and fed their secure information to the Dark Lord. You'll keep digging to find out how many people she's killed herself -- Gloria Rastrick was my favourite, by the way. Some candidate for Chief Mugwump she turned out to be. She popped like a balloon. Full of hot air, you see." This was fun. Evelyn usually didn't care for monologuing, but watching this little nuisance reporter squirm in fear as she handed him the biggest scoop of his lifetime brought a cruel and very real smile to her face. "I told you. I deal with threats as I see fit." David could feel the rising tide of terror, the way it choked out everything else. He was aware of the pounding of his blood and the way his shirt was stuck to his back with sweat. He couldn’t concentrate, really: he heard what Evelyn was saying and it seemed to rip through him, her words burning fiercely once they reached his ears. Since the beginning — candidate for Chief Mugwump — as I see fit. The worst part was David could see it. He could see all of the headlines from this conversation, he could feel them just as surely as if he’d wrote them already. He was unable to stop himself from picturing them in print. He took a deep shuddering breath and he thought of his children, of Cai and Gwen, and their small hands, and Violet’s smile. “I’ve got a family.” David heard the plea in his voice. Evelyn's smile disappeared. "So have I. And I will do whatever it takes to protect them." She slipped off the table and stood to her full height; not tall, exactly, but undeniably imposing. The binds were tight enough now to break skin, draw blood. Tight enough to make it look like he suffered, and David thrashed against them and found himself whimpering as blood ran down his arms. Good. "Think of it this way, David. Your life served a purpose. You were a warning to others. No one else will be foolish enough to try and find the secret Death Eater headquarters in Dorset now. They'll all know better, because of you." She leaned down, her face barely inches from him as she jammed her wand to his throat. David’s breath stuttered, his face a white sheet, and he tried not to breathe as he looked up at her, a litany of ‘pleases’ falling from his mouth. She studied his panicked, confused expression for a second before laughing. "Oh, you didn't think I'd let the real story out, did you?" The green light flared before he could respond. The body of journalist David Winter was discovered late this morning on a park bench not far from The Daily Prophet's headquarters. The body was posed in a sitting position, holding up an open newspaper as if he were reading it. It is unknown how long Winter's body sat there before a passerby noticed dried blood and checked to see if he was alright. |