1966
Mangione Manticore tapped the desk impatiently as he stared at the letter in front of him. The last few days rang like gunshots in his memory as the word "Bankrupt" struck him like a truck. He read it again and again, cycling between rage, sadness and shock. One day, he was on top of the world, the next, he was slowly descending down to hell.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
Three firm raps on the door. Mangione didn't react.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
Three more rang out. Mangione shouted "Come in!" Although his voice felt alien.
"Hello Father." The young Michael Manticore muttered as he entered the office. His face seemed neutral, almost uncaring. Mangione knew he couldn't tell his son the truth.
"Hello Son."
"I see the papers have reached you."
"Hm?"
"The document you are gawking at are the one's describing Manticore Group's bankruptcy, yes?"
"…" Mangione was stunned. "How do you know?" shot out of his mouth before he could think.
"We have been on the downturn for a while. Your outbursts at that kingpin certainly didn't help."
"You were-"
"At school? Yes. Like you have said many a time before, I have connections." Michael took a step closer. The twenty five year old's staggering height didn't do anything to calm Mangione's nerves.
"How much do you know, my son?"
"Enough to know what must be done." Michael reached into his pocket as realisation dawned on the once strong-willed man.
"Son, I-"
"The road to Hell is paved with good intentions. You taught me that quite well, and you have paved many a grave in your time." The barrel of a pistol quickly found its place in the atmosphere as Mangione's heart sunk in his chest. "Any last words, Father?"
"Why?"
"Progress must march ever forward. Your time has passed."
"I gave you-"
"What you gave me was insufficient compared to what I require. I gave myself everything I have. Your usefulness has long since withered away."
"..how can you be so cruel?"
"…" Michael's face twitched sightly. "…Like father like son. Pacifism is doomed to fail and peace is just a product, far beyond it's prime."
"I raised you-"
"You did not raise me. Your world did. We are only related by blood." Michael took another step forward. Mangione's eyes widened as tears welled up, his composure vanishing like it was never there to begin with.
"I'm sorry I failed you son."
"…" Michael aimed his pistol more firmly and took a deep breath.
"I love you." Mangione managed before the bullet rippled through his skull. The memories torn to sunder by cold metal as the first domino in the rise of the Manticore Corporation fell. Mangione's body toppled over, taking the chair, and his legacy, down with it.
Michael returned the murder weapon to his pocket and began to move swiftly. From the kitchen, where he stole a knife and some bread, to the bedroom, where he stole his father's jewels, and to the basement, where he arrived at a vault. He knew how to open it, for he had done it a hundred times before. With a few quick clicks, the twist of key and the turning of the wheel, he pulled the thick door open.
The sterile chamber was smaller than it looked from outside but it held the most important heirlooms of the Manticore family, he was already calculating the pay-out.
A grandfather clock crafted by Harold Manticore in the late 1600s, worth a few hundred euros. A handkerchief owned by Leonardo Manticore during the Napoleonic wars, worth nothing unless I can prove it's authenticity. A first print copy of the Reynolds pamphlet which came into the possession of Polly Manticore in the earlier 1800s, 500 euros at best. And lastly, an unfinished portrait of Julius Caesar painted by Lucius Manticore, A few million at worst.
His neutral expression broke as he stared at the portrait. But there was no remorse in his soul, only a sinister sense of victory. He shoved his hand into his coat and pulled out a walkie talkie. After a moment of setup, he muttered down the line,
"Move in boys, I've got the goods. It's time to bring the Manticore family to greatness."
1977
Chapter 3: Zero
Manticore Group. Pictured July 1898.
In short, my father's death was tragic but I grew from it.
That does not make for a good biography however, so let's talk details.
It was a cold May evening when my father called me. His solemn voice filled my room instantly. "Please come down to the Family estate within the week." was all he said before hanging up. It was abrupt but it was the only way he spoke. I didn't take it seriously for the first hour before realising,
This man disowned me, why is he calling me now?
So I quickly gathered what I would need for travel and started driving down the countryside. It took me two days to reach the family home in Ostuni, Italy. I arrived to my father tossing a glass at a wall. I rolled my eyes before he noticed me enter the room.
"YOU!" He shouted, with that booming voice he saved for his worst enemies, "WHY DID YOU DO IT?!"
I had no clue what he was referring to, hence my response, "What are you on about?"
"YOU SOLD US OU-" And then it hit, and he keeled over, before collapsing. I was too shocked to intervene. He was dead within the minute.
I didn't mourn. He didn't earn my remorse.
If I had to describe my father, I would call him a stern man with rigid morals, although those morals were long out of date. He was a mobster, a charlatan, a compassionate liar. He was a disgrace to the family's already doomed legacy. Just like his father and his father before him and his father before him. I did learn from, of course, the road to hell is paved with good intentions after all, he embodied that phrase more than everyone else before him.
It was a calm handover of power. I couldn't say it wasn't necessary. If the heart attack hadn't killed, Mangione would be singing my praises. We mightn't have got along…
…so when Quinn came to me with an idea on how to move forward, of course I wouldn't say no. I took his shares of what remained of Manticore Group and reforged it as what it has been since, The Manticore Corporation, or more accurately The Manticore Supermarket. One of the first of its kind in my hometown. We had a monopoly due to that fact, quickly buying out the others.
But I needed more. I couldn't stop there. And that is when the greatest thing happened…
~Excerpt from "The Manticore Gamble, Zero to a Million" by Michael Manticore
Published 5th November 1977
