A middle-aged earth pony stallion, one sporting a dark grey coat, iron grey eyes and a slicked-back mane matching in color, walked down an aisle of cubicles with practiced ease. All around him, ponies worked at typewriters, printing presses, amid stacks of paper and staplers galore, filling the entire floor with the chorus of industrious, unceasing work.
His eyes darted this way and that, leering at ponies from one angle or another as he walked. Some cowed with whimpers and worked faster, while others had the sensibility of keeping their backs turned to him and their faces fixed towards their typewriters. He rounded a corner of a leftmost cubicle with a huff, letting himself don the smallest of smiles upon seeing that it lead straight to a far wall with a set of double doors right where he could see them.
His walk started anew before turning into a slight trot, but his eyes still averted every which-way they possibly could. His smile grew when he saw that nopony was slacking, and so his slight trot turned into a brisk one almost bordering on a gallop.
It took him two minutes to reach the double doors, and he lifted a hoof to part one of them away from its mate before striding into whatever room was beyond. He found himself in a fairly large office, one that had bookshelves sitting to one wall that were lined with books about business practices. Some books were worn and had scratched covers, as if abused or perhaps in disuse. Others were newer things, pristine and polished in a way that made them seem as though made of glass.
To the other side of this room sat a few lounging couches with a small coffee table between them, and the entire set had a large and expansive window right behind it. His eyes fell upon a mahogany desk in the center, one with a throne-like chair of oak behind it, a neat and small stack of folded papers atop of it, and to one side of the desk sat a small plaque bearing the initials 'I.H.'.
The stallion trotted to the desk, then around it to sit up in the chair. Once he got himself situated and comfortable, his smile dropped to give way to a straight face as his front hooves came to tap at each other upon the desk before him. "I wonder who I should give the Employee of the Month title to," he mused to none but himself, and in so low a voice he himself barely heard it. "Everypony's working so diligently it's becoming hard to choose as of late…"
Silence befell the office, though only for a second as the pony turned to the stack of papers at the side. His brow rose when he saw various words framed in boxes dotting the face of the stack, and he lifted a hoof before pushing them towards himself from the opposite corner. Then he slid his front hoof under the stack before he picked it up, bringing it closer to his face as he began reading.
The paper immediately slid off of his hoof and landed on the desk, though the hoof itself was still raised and it started to slightly shake. The stallion's eyes went wide, his pupils shrank, and some hairs of his mane immediately frayed right out of place. "H-Helping… is in j-jail?" he stammered, his voice equal parts disbelieving and outright mortified. He scooped up the paper frantically and peered closer at it with narrowing eyes, as though his gaze alone could set it on fire.
His other hoof shot up and unfurled the stack, and he started flipping through it until he saw another framed box that contained more details—details that caused his heart to skip one beat and pulse harder on the subsequent three. Details he'd least expected—and never in his wildest dreams ever wanted to see come to pass in his lifetime—scrawled onto that very page. Taunting him. Judging him.
His chest tightened and his jaw shook in a way that his teeth began chattering intermittently, his mind almost entirely shutting down as he read what that box of information beheld. Worse, it had two grayscale pictures to one side, one with a unicorn mare sporting a cracked horn and the other an earth pony stallion with a black eye.
"C-Checkmate… in an asylum? H-how…" Words died in his throat as he continued to stare, and he did not notice nor care as the papers started sliding from his hooves again. The very world went still around him, time froze, his vision turned muzzy, sound all but ceased to exist, and his body felt as if turning into stone. He was left to his own thoughts, fast-fleeting and dwindling in number until only one remained, pounding itself about his skull with enough force to leave just the dullest of aches.
"H-Helping… in jail… C-Checkmate… asylum..."
"Mr. Hoof?" a masculine voice called out as the doors opened, yet the stallion just stared vacantly ahead, seemingly stiff with front hooves still raised. "Mr. Hoof?" the owner of the voice repeated to no avail, as the pony he addressed did not budge so much as an inch. The intruder trotted over to the desk, making his steps as quick and loud as possible in an attempt to rouse the pony who remained unbidden to movement.
Alas, he had no such luck—the poor pony who had previously made workers whimper with his gaze alone seemed transfixed in his current position; paralyzed, even. Perhaps 'petrified' would have been a much better word for the state he was in. It took another hoof raising up and pounding on the desk to get his attention, and the stallion slowly focused his eyes to find another before him. The second stallion sported a concerned frown, a slanted brow, a beige coat and a peach-colored mane.
"Mr. Iron Hoof? Are you well?" the beige stallion queried in a sincere voice, with particular emphasis on the first name of whom he asked.
Iron Hoof swallowed thickly. "Not at all… I just received the latest tabloid, and all things considered, I wish I hadn't," he answered in a subdued tone. He forced himself to assume a straight face again, though it took some seconds and a hoof going up to slick the stray hairs of his mane back into place before he could re-acquire the look of a trained professional. Even so, his eyes still shimmered with visible sparks of dread.
"But I assume you're here for something else, Thumbtack. What is it that you need, apart for concern of my well-being?" Iron asked, his voice cracking a little when 'concern' left his mouth, though otherwise it remained flat and monotone.
"Well, sir, I was wondering if we should stop investing money into Monarch Incorporated, since they went under heavy investigation three months ago," Thumbtack answered, his lips twitching slightly downward. "I-it wouldn't do well f-for us to invest i-in them any longer..."
Iron's eyes widened again, and he turned to the newspaper stack. It didn't take long to find its printed-by date, and he turned back to Thumbtack again after having confirmed his statement. "Why did you neglect to tell me this until now?" he snarled, eyes immediately narrowing to grey slits.
Thumbtack flinched and his ears pinned back. "W-word only came o-out recently, s-sir. Every b-branch of Monarch Incorporated in this s-side of M-Manehatten got temporarily closed down by r-royal guards last n-night," he stammered.
Iron Hoof's ears gave the slightest twitch. "By royal guards? Why would they need to busy themselves with Checkmate's business branches?" he asked in a very low voice, albeit one that had a deep snarl rumbling out of his throat as he spoke.
Thumbtack's pupils shrank to the size of his namesake. "Ch-Checkmate… used her company to p-perform sh-shady activities, s-sir. Th-the whole business is s-still under investigation," he answered uneasily.
Iron's brow lifted no more than an inch higher than was normal. "Care to elaborate," he asked tersely, though it came out more like a demand than a question.
Thumbtack's jaw jittered slightly as he elaborated, "She… used blackmail, a-and tried to u-use illegal m-magics, a-and bribed ponies…"
Iron Hoof let off a sigh, and took a moment to gather himself. "Of course, standard accusations… why am I surprised?" he mumbled sarcastically, his eyes rolling up to the ceiling as he gravely shook his head.
He then leveled a flat stare at Thumbtack that all but froze him to the spot. "The guards and Princess Celestia know not an iota of how we business tycoons work, Thumbtack. Sooner or later Checkmate will get her freedom back, and sooner or later my son Helping will do likewise to claim all of this—" He lifted a hoof and made a sweeping gesture about the office. "—as soon as I either retire, or simply cease to breathe."
"I-I don't think bits could g-get Checkmate out of an asylum, sir," Thumbtack stammered, his front legs trembling slightly, almost threatening to buckle. "Sh-she suffered Cutie Mark Failure Insanity…"
Iron Hoof dropped his front hooves on the table, almost slamming them upon the desk in a manner reminiscent of gavels. "Cutie Mark… Failure Insanity?" he repeated slowly and coldly, causing Thumbtack to hurriedly nod.
"Y-yes, sir," Thumbtack answered. "The a-asylum she's a-at wouldn't even take a t-trillion bits to let her walk free because of th-the Insanity she's been diagnosed with..." He paused to swallow before finishing, "But the pri-prison, on th-the other hoof… you c-could get your son ac-acquitted."
Iron Hoof sighed and closed his eyes. "Once I do get Helping acquitted, he had best explain himself. This is the last time I am indulging in his little charades attempts. After that, he's helping with this business, and Princess nor prison is going to stop me from seeing to it that he does," he hissed, slowly standing up from his seat on just his back legs. His eyes snapped open. "Manage the business while I am gone, Thumbtack. Consider this your punishment for neglecting to inform me of this travesty sooner."