Marsden glanced up from his notebook.
"Who is the head of this conglomerate?" he asked.
Ibbetson and Daniels glanced at each other.
"Well, no one really knows," Ibbetson took it upon himself to respond.
Marsden rubbed his nose. The new moustache was itchy. He clicked his pen closed, then open, then closed. Brenda later theorized that this was a sign of his indecision, but those who had read a good, academically-oriented biography of him knew better.
