Chapter Text
Giran could admit to himself he was a sleazeball. A chainsmoker who worked with the underbelly of society, while at the same time making deals with the occasional corrupt official high in government or businesses. He was also a gambler at heart, willing to invest in anyone who seemed like their ventures would pay dividends in the future… so long as they promised him a slice of the pie. But unlike a gambler, when his bets failed, he didn’t cut his losses.
He was the kind of sleaze who would let a naive businessman, a young upstart from new money, make the foolish mistake of getting the underworld involved in smoking out his competitors. He drafted up deals and smooth-talked the guy, assuring him that he wouldn’t have to pay Giran a single yen until years later once his business was up and running. He neglected to elaborate on the consequences that might result if the man’s business never got off the ground, and he was left with a pile of debt owed to an information broker with half the underworld’s numbers on his personal cell.
But despite Giran’s sleaziness, he had more integrity than this guy who shoved his daughter, scarcely a toddler, in front of himself like a shield. “If you take her, can’t you consider all my debts paid?”
The man making the plea was shaking, apparently not yet processing the fact that once you made a deal with the devil, the devil would collect, even if that meant coming to your house with hired guns during dinnertime. Always good to remind ambitious civilians that Giran knew where they lived and how mortal their family members were. Apparently this guy didn’t care much for his flesh and blood, though.
Giran sneered, “I’m not that kind of broker.”
The man shook his head vigorously. “N-no! Not like that! I’m trying to give you her quirk, it’s- it’s really quite valuable!”
The girl in question seemed mostly confused by the situation, brows pinched as she stared down the barrel of a gun to Giran’s left. They weren’t supposed to fire without Giran’s signal; he loved the threat, but deep down he would always prefer to get something out of his deals other than a dead body. Unorthodox as his deals might be, he loved to negotiate. “What kind of quirk?”
“She can make things, anything! E-even gold! Isn’t that a good investment? If you take her, you could pay off my debt easily!” He babbled like a businessman trying to seal a risky deal.
Giran eyed the little girl curiously. She seemed about the right age for a recent quirk manifestation. He knew at least one big guy in the underworld who might love to get his hands on the quirk, and whose debt was worth more than this businessman’s would ever be. He didn’t buy blind, but if her quirk was the real deal, it might be worth taking her on a trip and then sending her back home.
The man’s wife clung to his shoulder. “Are you crazy?” she hissed, eyes never leaving the gun to Giran’s right. “That’s our daughter.”
He grimaced at his wife’s complaint. His response was quiet but stern, “We can make another if we survive today.”
“You’re crazy,” she repeated, but never made a move to pull their daughter out of harm’s way.
The guy ignored his wife, and spoke to the daughter instead. “Come on, Momo, show the man the pretty gold trick.”
That spurred the girl, Momo, into action. She took a few steps towards Giran, apparently unaware or uncaring of what the guns beside him could do. Based on her upbringing, Giran would bet on unaware. She held a hand out, palm down, and waited patiently.
Giran gathered her intention and put his hand below hers. She took a deep breath, eyes closing, and a moment later a small nougat of gold fell into his hands.
“Isn’t that amazing?” The man behind her, now unable to reach Momo, insisted. “Imagine how much money you could make off of her!”
If it were that easy, the father would have done so himself and paid off Giran’s debt. Pumping a bunch of gold from a mysterious source into the market wasn’t exactly a foolproof business plan, and would raise much more scrutiny than Giran was comfortable with.
The idea of accepting a child instead of debt payment was ridiculous; Giran wasn’t exactly parent material.
“Please, just take her and leave us alone! She’s polite and obedient, won’t raise any fuss at all!”
…These people weren’t parent material either.
When Giran didn’t say anything, Momo piped up, “I can make lots of other stuff, too, sir.”
She might not have grasped the full situation, but at the very least she seemed aware she was part of this bargain, and knew she had to advertise her worth. She lifted her shirt, exposing her belly, and a new item, metallic and hefty, emerged.
Giran barely caught the gun before it hit the floor, alarmed and afraid of the trigger going off. Behind Momo, her parents guffawed at her audacity.
“Momo!” The mother’s tone made the child flinch and straighten her posture. “Don’t just go making things willy nilly!”
“That wasn’t meant as a threat,” the man pleaded to Giran, “our kid just doesn’t know any better, we didn’t tell her to do that.”
Giran gently tilted the gun, noting that it was the exact same model as the ones his hired goons were holding but much heavier. “I figured,” he told the alarmed parents absentmindedly as he examined it.
He found the safety was off, but when he tried to turn it on the piece didn’t move at all. Attempting to take any of the pieces apart yielded nothing, and he realized it was just solid metal; an impressive replica but as functional as a toy.
Satisfied with his own assessment, he dropped it, the thump as it hit the ground causing Momo’s parents to flinch.
Momo herself was now looking at the ground, at her discarded creation. “I can make lots of things…” she said quietly, “I won’t do it without being asked anymore.”
It felt strangely easy, reaching down and taking Momo’s hand. He gave the gentlest tug, and she came right to his side, trained like a dog. He bent down, and met her confused eyes. Even if she was too young to fully understand the way her parents were betraying her, she was doing her best to help them. Giran gave her an attempt at a smile, then picked her up by her armpits. She instinctively held onto him, arms around his neck as he brought her close, and refocused on the parents.
“I’m a negotiable kind of guy. Consider the debt paid.”
The man’s eyebrows raised off his forehead, like he couldn’t believe his offer was accepted. “R-really?”
The woman’s face was pinched, like she couldn’t quite believe the turn of events, while gripping on her husband’s sleeve.
Giran nodded, the child feeling heavier than he expected in his arms. “I wouldn’t recommend coming back for another deal, though.”
The man nodded furiously, letting out a disbelieving noise that was almost a laugh. “Absolutely. Yeah. No more gambling. I’ll be on the straight and narrow from now on. Fresh start!”
“But our daughter…” the mother breathed out hesitantly, a token protest.
Hearing herself referenced, Momo turned to look at her parents.
The father waved at her, smiling. “You’re going to be a good girl for Giran, right Momo?”
Momo nodded, serious expression on her face.
“You’re going to be staying with him from now on,” he added.
Momo frowned. “When will I come back?”
Both parents grimaced. Eventually, the mother said slowly, “Goodbye, Momo.”
It seemed the parents weren’t going to explain any more elaborately than that, so Giran turned and started to leave with Momo.
The child still called out, “Mother? Father?”
“Farewell, Momo,” Her father returned, “you’re doing great!”
The praise seemed to mollify her somewhat, and thankfully Momo didn’t struggle out of his arms. Giran continued walking, noting the familiar steps of the hired guns following close behind him.
Momo was quiet for a bit as Giran left the house, eventually coming to an area where Giran had hidden a getaway car. He put her in the backseat, though he didn’t have a proper child’s car seat for her. Ah well, he would just try not to get into an accident.
He dismissed the men he hired for the job, passing an extra tip for their service and giving a subtle mind wipe to keep them from remembering Momo’s quirk. If her quirk was as versatile as her parents claimed, it wouldn’t be good to have too many aware of it before she could defend herself.
When he got back to the car, Momo was sitting primly in the backseat, apparently having figured out how to buckle herself, though the strap meant to go across the chest went across her forehead instead.
“You good back there?” Giran asked.
She didn’t look good, lips pursed and fists clenched, but she nodded sternly like an agent on a mission.
He began driving, glancing back occasionally to check in on Momo. Despite being mature for a toddler, she still seemed to be nervous about being in the car with a stranger after watching her parents cower and give her up. Eventually she spoke up, “Sir, may I ask where we’re going?”
Giran snorted. “Don’t call me ‘sir’, just Giran is fine.”
Talking seemed to calm her a bit, and her fists uncurled. “Then Giran, may I ask where we’re going?”
“To my apartment,” he explained, “I don’t have a ton of space, but I have a guest room you can use.”
“...How long will I be staying?”
Giran sighed. He wasn’t a kindergarten teacher; he wasn’t sure what the appropriate way to explain this was. “Kid, I hate to break this to you, but your parents gave you up.”
“...For how long?”
“Did you hear us discuss timeframe at all?” he asked with a snort. “No. They’re not planning to take you back.”
Momo was quiet in the backseat. He sighed in relief, glad that she was apparently taking it well.
Then there was sniffling.
Oh no.
The cries were quiet, muffled, like she was trying not to be a bother. The hesitant nature of it just made Giran feel more guilty though; did she think she’d get in trouble if she was too noisy?
At least they were close to the apartment now, and Giran was able to park and get out, opening the door to the backseat and reaching out to her. He was absolutely no expert in child-rearing, but he wasn’t heartless. “Hey, hey now, it’s alright…”
The offer of an open arm was apparently enough for her to dive into his chest, tears flowing full force and starting to wail. Hesitantly, he patted her on the back while she sobbed into his shoulder, getting his purple suit jacket covered in snot. At least it would be easier to wash out than blood was.
He hoisted her up, locked the car, and went into the apartment. The whole way, Momo clung to his clothes and continued to cry, her previous world falling apart around her. He let the distressed realization take its course, knowing there was no rushing grief.
By the time he got into his apartment and deposited her on the sterile bed of his guest bedroom though, he thought he ought to do something. “Hey kid,” he started.
Momo looked up at him, eyes rimmed red, lip out in an upset pout.
He wanted to sleep tonight. How could he mollify her for the rest of the evening? What did kids like? “Do you uh… want to make a toy or something?”
Momo stopped crying to properly consider that. “...Any toy?”
“Yeah, whatever you can make,” he encouraged her, “Go ahead, I won’t stop you.”
Her face went serious, and she held her hand out. He watched, now getting properly curious about her quirk, as something wooden and round bounced off the bed.
He picked it up for her, and handed it back. “Matryoshka doll?”
She nodded, then wrapped her arms around it like it was the most comforting item in existence.
“Uh, great work?” he tried, feeling better when she returned a relieved smile.
He gave a thumbs up, and slowly backed out the door. She followed him with her eyes, and once he was out in the hallway he pointed.
“Bathroom is that direction, I’ll be in the other direction… alright?”
“Yes, Giran,” she said quietly.
He closed the door, only letting out a long sigh once it was shut.
Parenting definitely wasn’t his secret calling.
But after seeing parents throw their daughter into the line of fire, parenting didn’t seem that hard. Step one, getting her away from her gene donors who saw her as a tool to get out of debt with, done. What else was there to do?
Apparently she could make her own toys, that was a start. He would probably have to buy her some too, for variety or whatever. Some kid’s clothing, more food, probably some workbooks or something…
He took a deep breath. He’d just keep her around long enough for her to decide what she wanted. Then she could scamper off and get into whatever trouble kids got themselves into nowadays.
Momo woke up slowly, curling into her plush blankets for a minute before forcing herself to open her eyes and face the day.
She swung out of her lofted bed, as she was tall enough to just drop off the edge with a careful landing. She glanced at her closet, considering getting dressed for the day, but as far as she knew there weren’t any meetings scheduled, so she decided to stay conveniently in her nightgown and simply add on her favorite pair of fuzzy bunny slippers.
She grabbed her hairbrush and shuffled out of the room, still yawning. Once in the hallway, she could hear Giran’s voice in the living room.
“Well that’s a sweet notion and all, but what’s in it for me?”
When she entered the room, she saw he was lounging on the couch, also in his matching bunny slippers and a set of cactus-print pajamas. He saw her enter, and gave an acknowledging nod as he continued to talk into the phone.
“That’s an understatement. But again, why should I help you?”
Momo walked over and handed Giran the hairbrush before turning to sit on the carpet in front of him, giving him easy access to the back of his head.
He didn’t say anything, but she heard the caller’s voice become audible as he switched the call to speakerphone mode. “...With an industry insider, so if you need a favor in the future…”
“A favor with the Tarcs? I love y’all, but I’ll tell it to ya straight: You’re small fry in a gigantic pan. You think one industry insider is gonna give you that edge up to become an actual threat?”
Momo grinned as she felt her hair lift, Giran starting from the very bottom with the hairbrush, and going through the strands methodically.
“Our insider isn’t exactly ‘small fry’,” The Tarc representative insisted, “He’s vice president of the Himura Conglomerate. They’ve funded like, a dozen startups in America, and it’s rapidly paying dividends.”
Giran hummed. “I have heard of the Himura’s.”
“...So? A favor with them in return for some of that wonderflonium?”
“You’re lucky I’m an investor at heart,” Giran told the caller as he reached the top of Momo’s head, running the brush from scalp to tip several times. “Let’s meet tonight. Discuss some details. I think we could reach an… arrangement.”
He gathered up all the hair, lifting it up, and Momo got the cue. She held up her wrist, and he easily rolled the hair elastic off it. She felt some tugging on the back of her head, then a release as he finished putting it up in a ponytail.
“Thank you! You won’t regret this!”
Giran snorted. “I’ll decide that. See you tonight.”
A beep sounded as he disconnected the call. Momo got up, tilting her head to feel the bounce of the ponytail. She followed him as he made his way to the kitchen. “Are you going to give it to them?”
He grabbed a pink apron with ruffles off a hook on the wall, and put it on as he said, “Depends on what else they can offer when the pressure is on. It’s an awful hassle getting my hands on wonderflonium, after all. Have to make it worth my while.”
Momo laughed at the joke. “Of course.”
She saw a sliver of a grin before he turned to the stove, preparing a pan to be heated. While he occupied himself, hopping to the fridge and freezer to get different ingredients, Momo filled up the water boiler. She dug through her tea cabinet.
“Earl gray, assam, oolong… What are you feeling this morning?” she asked Giran.
“I’ll leave it to the expert’s recommendation.”
She grinned, eventually grabbing an oolong she had obtained only last month. She consulted the directions on the package, setting the water boiler to the recommended temperature
They passed the morning in pleasant quiet, only the sound of the pan sizzling and the water beginning to bubble between them. Momo pulled out her teapot, an elegant gift Giran had gotten her for her eleventh birthday, and set it on the counter.
Eventually, the boiler clicked, and Momo poured carefully into her teapot, letting the hot water pass through the infuser filled with oolong leaves. She kept an eye on the clock once she poured it, not wanting to over steep.
Beside her, Giran bustled around the kitchen, pulling out plates and starting to plate their breakfasts. The brew time passed, and she pulled the infuser out, putting it on a small dish she always kept nearby so she could steep the leaves again later in the day.
Naturally, Giran placed their meals on the table, and Momo poured out two cups of tea. They both took their seats, and she took in a deep breath. There was the gentle scent of oolong wafting through the air, but what got her appetite going was the food. The rich, thick scent of bacon, well-stacked on her plate, neighbored by generous helpings of spiced hashbrowns and scrambled eggs.
Giran switched on the radio, an old thing that he kept tuned to the local news station. He had many sources of info, but found it important to keep an eye on what was being broadcasted to the mainstream as well.
“-to stimulate economic development in the northern sector. These tax breaks will apply to any business that can demonstrate how their presence will stimulate the local economy. Of course there’s fierce competition for the recently-empty storefront on Jakku street.”
She dug in, her appetite as strong as usual. She took some brief intermissions to sip at her tea, but otherwise was laser focused on filling her stomach. Beside her, Giran ate at a much more sedate pace. As per usual he served himself less than her, so even with their differing rates they would likely finish at close to the same time.
“We’ve confirmed discussions going on with at least three groups. The current landowner is not at liberty to name them, but they’ve described a possible café looking to expand… Currently Tiger Teas, the cat café two towns over, has expressed an interest in expansion recently, could they be making offers for the location?”
Momo had never visited that café, but the name made her curious.
“Then of course there’s a hero agency apparently that’s looking into it. They would have a big advantage for economic reasons, as their presence in the area would likely increase safety in the area and stimulate all the businesses and the residential values.”
She huffed. More like “perceived safety” of the area.
“But unfortunately dear listeners, I can’t tell you which of the many sidekicks in Japan might be striking out on their own on Jakku street. There’s just too many plausible guesses at the moment. Aside from that, we have a good guess on the corporate entity looking to snatch up the location: The Yaoyorozu Corporation has been rapidly rising the ranks of-”
Giran switched channels immediately. “-Could expect to see him competing in Nationals next year if he keeps up this stellar performance…”
Luckily Momo had just finished her meal, as she abruptly lost her appetite. She forced herself to stop clenching her utensil. As Giran always said: They no longer had any connection to the Yaoyorozus. Their deal was done, and they agreed to stay away. It was best to think of them as strangers and keep their distance.
But no amount of telling herself that they’re strangers now seemed to temper the anger that rose in her throat whenever she heard that name.
As they cleaned up, Giran asked her, “You sure you’re good to go tonight?”
“Of course.” Just because she got a little rattled by the morning news didn’t mean she couldn’t work tonight.
Besides, she couldn’t deny her curiosity regarding the Tarcs. They were new to the underground scene, and although they had investigated most the known members and gotten a decent sense of who they were, she still wasn’t sure exactly why they were all banding together, or what their ultimate goal was.
They were a young group, and still in the recruitment stage. Two of the members, the leader and his right-hand, were decently established criminals, but others were young or new to the scene, so they were clearly willing to take on the inexperienced.
Momo took a deep breath, glancing sideways at Giran. “...Would you like another cup of tea?”
He paused, eyes darting to Momo, before responding, “Sure.”
This time they took the tea outside the kitchen, to enjoy in the comfortable living room. Momo didn’t rush; Giran was in a good mood. There were times where he had to grovel and sweet-talk his way into getting a connection or a favor, but that phone call was one that was clearly in his favor from the start. Being begged by young upstarts did things to Giran’s ego that always made him more amendable to requests he normally shut down.
Like the one Momo was about to make.
“So the Tarcs are getting more established…” she started.
He took an appreciative sip of his tea. “I’m not holding my breath for them. They haven’t actually proven their mettle yet with any results, and a backer from corporate is very different from something like an underground sponsor.”
“Still… You wouldn’t be meeting with them if you didn’t think they had potential.”
“Everyone starts from nowhere,” he explained with a wave of his hand, “if you help someone when they have almost nothing to give… They remember that. If—and that’s a big if— they get big, who do you think they’ll go to? The broker that refused to talk to them until they had the big guns, or the broker that gave them a chance, even if it was small?”
“But there are still groups and people you refuse to work with. An ‘if they get big’ is some show of confidence from you.”
“Their leader’s done some good solo work… I don’t know how he’ll be as a leader, but I at least trust him individually…” He side-eyed her. “What’s with this line of questioning? Did one of the Tarcs bribe you to talk them up to me?”
“Of course not,” she said clearly, “What I’m getting at is that they’re just starting out, you have some trust for them, and they’re actively recruiting new members.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Momo…”
“You always say it’s important to start small!” Momo put down her tea to gesticulate. “Being an establishing member of an organization like this could be a perfect introduction to working-”
“You’re already working.”
“You know what I mean!” she insisted, “Not in the background like you, but the foreground! I want to be out there on the streets, learning to fight and getting things done! ”
Giran sighed. “You’re only fifteen.”
“And there are gang members who are only thirteen! Remember the Ubese crew?”
“Remember how they blew up?” he said with a deadpan expression. “Those kids are in juvie now.”
“You think I’m not capable?”
By now he had put down his tea as well, its steam dissipating as it cooled. “You’re incredibly capable, Momo, and smart as a whip. Even without school, your thirst for knowledge is beyond even mine… But that’s why you shouldn’t be allying with any one organization like that.”
She pouted, waiting for him to elaborate. Her tea was getting cold, but she didn’t take another sip.
“Look… you studied Greek mythology, right?”
Momo studied a lot of things. She felt like a sponge sometimes, constantly on the search for new information, going on binges through the internet for the most random of topics, and trying out every odd experiment she was exposed to. Greek mythology was something she studied thoroughly in a curious mood a few years ago. “Yes.”
“You remember the Oracle of Delphi?”
She crossed her arms. “A figure who was supposedly blessed with visions and knowledge from the gods… She stayed in her temple, and would just give advice to those who visited her.”
“Not just give advice,” he corrected with a wag of his finger, “she was consulted about matters regarding dozens of city-states and all sorts of dramas, from the international to intensely personal. Everyone who asked her for advice had to tell her the current state of affairs, and why do you think they did so?”
“Because the Oracle was considered a neutral party, and respected religiously,” Momo confirmed she understood, “she would not spill secrets to the enemy.”
“She would not directly spill, but she could advise. If one leader came to her saying ‘Oracle, I have some great soldiers, but my city supplies are low, should I start a war with my neighbor with the hope I can overwhelm them before running out?’ She would think back to when the neighbor came to her and said ‘My engineers have devised a new type of siege weaponry that could turn the future tides of war, should I invest in building it now or wait until war is on the horizon?’ and could advise accordingly based on what she told the first guy.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be some stuffy old priest,” Momo said with a pout, “maybe I want to be a Heracles.”
He snorted. “Heracles may have been famous, but he burned bright and short. Went through absolute shit, all sorts of ridiculous trials and tribulations, while the Oracle got to sit in a fancy temple, smoke drugs, and get fed grapes like a princess. Tell me, which one would you rather be?”
She took a deep breath. She knew what the ‘right’ answer was, even if she didn’t agree. “...The Oracle.”
He grinned and got up, taking a moment to ruffle her hair before taking his tea cup towards the kitchen. “You’re a smart girl, Momo. You’re doing great.”
She knew better than to argue further. Clearly Giran wasn’t going to budge, even with a perfect opportunity for Momo to dip her toes into being the Heracles she dreamed of.
Giran seemed to notice her dissatisfaction, as his voice when he next spoke was soft. “I know you want to be independent, but you’ll be much safer brokering on your own than trying to chase glory like cannon fodder. How’s that connection you’re trying to make going?”
She tucked her legs up on the couch. Her tea was cold now. “Fine.”
“Planning to meet them?”
“At some point,” She said tersely.
As per usual, he seemed to sense her mood and let the conversation end. “Let me know if you want any help.”
“I can do it myself,” She responded quietly, craving at least that little control.
Giran’s idea of building independence involved pushing her to go find a connection of her own. Some sleuthing on the internet, getting involved in some DIY forums, and sending messages to a few of the people she found there was how she was starting out. She did want to prove herself to him, and make him proud… But would it be so hard for him to be proud of her for getting out there on the ground and actually contributing to some of the criminal activities in Japan instead of just watching over it like a princess above it all?
She waited until he left the kitchen to bring her teacup to the sink. A quick rinse later, she took measured steps (not stomps, as much as she wanted to) towards her room. She booted up her PC and opened up her internet browser.
She was somewhat involved in a particular forum for odd constructions, and had a few targets to connect with. Her current big fish was a very active member, whose eclectic requests (“What explosive would pack the most punch in the least amount of space?” and “Most expansive sticky solution?”) caught Momo’s eye early on.
She hadn’t had an excuse to message the account until recently, when they had written up a bemoaning request for wonderflonium. Most the comments on the post commiserated, agreeing that it was a tightly controlled substance. Despite its revered electronic enhancement capabilities, it was also a key ingredient in a very explosive cocktail that could take down a building.
And this forum user had implied an explosive intention with the wonderflonium.
Momo had a sneaking suspicion, based on the user’s chaotic post history, that they were a villain or heading rapidly down the path of villainy. It made them the ideal target for the first node in her own network, completely separate from Giran.
He was trusting her with this, at least. Letting her search up, examine, and meet a potential ally on her own. She wanted to prove she could be trusted with that at least, and then maybe, just maybe he’d see how capable she was, and then think about what she really wanted to do…
But that was getting ahead of herself. First, she had to check her messages.
She was pleased to see that Hazoomei responded to her message, where Momo gently implied she could procure some wonderflonium.
LittleRed: Hey I saw your post about the wonderflonium! Just wanted to PM you to see if you’re okay with some ‘under the table’ sources
hazoomei: bro ill take literally ANY source on them its IMPOSSIBLE to get ahold of rn!!!!
Momo giggled at the enthusiastic response. Still, she wanted to be at least somewhat clear what her sources and intentions were. If someone saw Hazoomei had obtained wonderflonium, anyone who knew anything would start digging.
LittleRed: Just to clarify, I might know someone who can help, but they’re not part of an official supply chain or anything. Is this project going to be used in any sort of formal context? Like work or as a school project?
hazoomei: lol no this is for a personal project… something that could change society as we know it
Momo sat up a little straighter in her chair, leaning forward to reread the response. It seemed this person had big dreams of their own. She liked that sort of passion for change.
LittleRed: I may be able to get you a source… Would you be okay meeting in real life?
hazoomei: anything for my babies!!!
She frowned. Babies? Like children?
Her brain jumped to analysis. Children were a convenient weakness, Giran always said. Some people became villains specifically to secure a future for their child, increasing their desperation in delightfully exploitable ways.
Parents aren’t guaranteed to love their children though, Momo thought bitterly, then stamped the thought down.
Regardless, any information on her potential connection was valuable. They exchanged a few more messages, eventually settling on meeting tomorrow night.
Momo couldn’t deny her growing excitement at setting up a deal by herself. She’d help out with Giran’s deal tonight, as she usually did, but the night after she’d get an opportunity to run the show herself.
She couldn’t wait.