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From: The Bane of Yorkshire
"I trust all the arrangements will be made promptly," the Ventrue spoke into her cellphone as she watched the far wall. "The aforementioned funds should be transferred into Mr. Endochrine's account." She tilted her head thoughtfully and listens to the outpouring of information from her broker's lips and into her ear. The transaction had been simple, really...a simple move of funds into the Toreador's account. A small amount, at first, until she could be certain he was of appropriate use to her.
"Has the email list for those individuals been prepared yet?" she reminded her broker. After all, even though they were just mortal commoners, politicians were not healthy candidates for neglect. Her broker, clever as always, had succeeded in surpassing the spirit of the request yet again, having organized the addresses in such a way that each one was blind to the other. Add to that the bonus of financial reports on each member of Dallas' hierarchial elite...a valuable commodity in the game she was playing.
"One last matter...I'll need a report of the Dogs of the Dow this year. Sell 20% of my holdings in Dillon between noon and 1pm your time, then buy them back next Tuesday," she paused at the broker's naive protests of such a "foolish" act. He still had much to learn. "Have I failed before? Garner your faith," she reassured the broker. "Thank you, dear sir...and have a pleasant evening."
Lucille pressed the End button on her cell and stood to walk down the gloomy, tapestried hallway toward her nightmarish slumber.