\n\n\n\n
Virgil stood in the bathroom, staring at the mirror, his electric toothbrush buzzing against his teeth with the same relentless hum that had been in his head all evening. The smell of peppermint toothpaste filled the air as he swirled water in his mouth, spat it out, and leaned in closer to the mirror.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was his eyes\u2014those tired, goddamn eyes. He had spent most of his life using them to observe, analyze, judge. But now, they looked haunted, as if they were seeing something he couldn\u2019t. Or maybe didn\u2019t want to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The others had been particularly chatty tonight. Some nights they stayed quiet, almost respectful. But tonight, they buzzed like gnats\u2014constantly, relentlessly. He pressed his palms to his face, feeling the coarse stubble on his cheeks.<\/p>\n\n\n
![\"Virgil](\"https:\/\/www.markbertrand.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/10\/Virgil-and-Rachael-series.jpg\")
<\/a><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\u201cYou gonna tell her tonight?\u201d one of them asked, an annoyingly familiar voice in his head. He didn\u2019t even bother answering. He wasn\u2019t ready for the conversation. Not yet. Maybe never. The thought of it made him feel exposed\u2014stripped bare.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He flicked the light off and walked into the bedroom, the soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminating the room. Rachael was curled up in bed, propped up on her pillows, reading one of those oversized novels she loved so much. Scourge<\/em> or something like that. Some Indie author he\u2019d never heard of. Rodney McWilliams? Virgil figured it was just one more thing that got lost across the Atlantic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Rachael didn\u2019t look up when he walked in. She just turned a page, her hand absentmindedly caressing his side of the bed as if inviting him to join her without saying a word.<\/p>\n\n\n\n His heart pounded in his chest. The fear was still there, gnawing at him, but it had changed\u2014morphed from terror into something different. Maybe it was determination. He had to tell her something.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He took off his shirt, felt the cold air against his skin, and climbed into bed beside her. His body ached from the weight of the day, the weight of those invisible presences that always followed him, their voices like white noise in the background of his life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHey,\u201d he said softly, settling into the pillows.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Rachael glanced over at him, smirking. \u201cHey yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n They always started with simple pleasantries, the way you do when you\u2019ve been married long enough that words become placeholders for something bigger, something understood without needing to be said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He took a breath, steeling himself. His mind raced. He couldn\u2019t just blurt it out. He had to ease into it. The key was not to freak her out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou know\u2026\u201d he started, voice low, careful. \u201cI\u2019ve been thinking. About something.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Rachael didn\u2019t look up from her book, though her lips twitched in amusement. \u201cThat sounds dangerous.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHa. Ha,\u201d he said flatly. But then he couldn\u2019t help but chuckle. He loved that about her\u2014the dry, British sarcasm that slipped out so effortlessly. There was something about the way she could take his seriousness and deflate it with just a few words.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSo, what\u2019ve you been thinking about then?\u201d she asked, her accent making \u201cthen\u201d sound like \u201cven.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He shifted uncomfortably. \u201cWell, it\u2019s hard to explain, but\u2026 you know how sometimes when we\u2019re watching TV, or, like, when I\u2019m alone in the office\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She turned a page, still focused on her book. \u201cMmm-hmm?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSometimes, I feel like there are others in the room. People. Not just us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She snorted, finally glancing up at him with one eyebrow raised. \u201cYou mean like ghosts, love?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNot ghosts. I don\u2019t know what they are.\u201d He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. \u201cThey talk to me sometimes. I talk to them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Rachael\u2019s eyes met his, and she stared at him for a moment before laughing softly. \u201cVirgil, you\u2019re not going mad on me, are you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He smiled, but it was weak. \u201cI might be.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She put her book down, closing it with a soft thud, and shifted to face him, her expression softening. \u201cAlright. Explain it to me. You\u2019ve got my attention now.\u201d She reached out, her hand resting on his arm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He wanted to tell her everything. To confess about the arguments he had with them, the political debates that never ended, how they always disagreed with each other, pulling him in every direction. Some were far left, some were stubbornly conservative, and none of them ever shut up. It was exhausting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI can hear them,\u201d he continued, feeling his heart race faster. \u201cThey talk about politics. They argue with each other. Philosophize. I mean, I know they\u2019re not real, but they feel real. Sometimes, they sound like they’re right there next to me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Her lips parted, the bemused smile fading. \u201cAnd how long\u2019s this been going on?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He shrugged. \u201cA while. A couple of years maybe. I didn\u2019t want to tell you \u2018cause I figured you\u2019d think I was losing it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWell, I do think you\u2019ve lost it.\u201d She smirked, her fingers trailing over his arm in slow, deliberate movements. \u201cBut not because of this. Maybe you just need some peace and quiet, love. Could be you\u2019re overthinking it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He felt a surge of relief at her lightness, but the tension still coiled in his chest. \u201cMaybe. Or maybe I\u2019m onto something. They\u2019re…they\u2019re always discussing something big. Sometimes it\u2019s the government, sometimes it\u2019s society. Lately, though, it\u2019s been more intense.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMore intense?\u201d She tilted her head. \u201cLike what?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t know. Like they\u2019re getting louder. More pushy.\u201d His voice dropped to a whisper. \u201cAnd they\u2019re saying things that… I don\u2019t know how to explain it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Rachael gave a low laugh, shaking her head. \u201cYou Americans. Always making things bigger than they need to be. You\u2019re sure this isn\u2019t just all the nonsense we see in the news getting to you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI wish it was that simple.\u201d He sighed. \u201cIt feels more real than that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cReal, you say?\u201d Rachael\u2019s accent thickened with the skepticism that laced her voice. \u201cI hate to break it to you, Virgil, but you\u2019re the one having conversations with invisible people. I\u2019d say real isn\u2019t exactly the right word here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMaybe. Or maybe they\u2019re just more aware of what\u2019s happening than we are.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n There was a moment of silence between them, the kind that weighed heavy in the air, thick with the tension of unspoken words. She gave him a soft look, brushing her hand over his arm again, this time more gently.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWell,\u201d she said after a beat, \u201cnext time your invisible friends decide to have one of their little debates, tell them to let me know. Sounds like they\u2019d make for interesting company.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Virgil chuckled softly, but his mind was still racing. The others were quiet now, almost eerily so, as if they were waiting\u2014watching. He could feel them in the room, lingering just out of sight, and he wondered how much longer he could keep pretending this was all in his head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But tonight wasn\u2019t the night for more confessions. Tonight, he\u2019d only scratched the surface.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Virgil knelt by the pool\u2019s heating system, tools scattered around him like fallen soldiers. The heater sputtered, struggling to maintain its prime, the water flow catching and choking as if it were as tired as he was. His hands fumbled with the valves and pipes, his fingers rough from years of labor, and the mechanical whine grated against his nerves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, leaning back on his haunches, when he felt it\u2014the familiar, unsettling shift in the air. The temperature dropped, just enough for him to notice, and that eerie quiet settled in. He wasn\u2019t alone anymore. They had come again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A voice, deep and self-assured, reverberated in his head, and Virgil instinctively turned his gaze toward the far corner of the room. He couldn\u2019t see anyone, of course, but he could feel the presence, feel it looming there, as though someone or something had stepped into the space.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou know why this is happening, right?\u201d The voice was low, calm, authoritative, dripping with an air of superiority. \u201cIt\u2019s because the system works for those who understand it. Business drives everything. Always has, always will.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Virgil swallowed, his hands gripping the wrench tightly. He didn\u2019t speak, but the presence pressed on, the weight of it creeping up his spine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIf the government lets businesses thrive, lets the people at the top keep control, it\u2019s better for everyone. That\u2019s the key. You choke the rich, and the whole thing collapses. We make the decisions that keep the rest of you afloat. You might not like it, but it\u2019s the truth.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Virgil closed his eyes, taking a slow breath. He could picture the presence, feel it pacing in the corner, like some unseen CEO in a tailored suit, all smugness and false wisdom. It had that aura\u2014the kind that reeked of money, of someone who never had to get their hands dirty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat heater you\u2019re trying to fix?\u201d The voice dripped with condescension. \u201cIt\u2019s no different. You keep it running, but the people above you? They\u2019re the ones who built this place. They\u2019re the ones who know how to manage it. You don\u2019t create the wealth, Virgil. You\u2019re just keeping it from falling apart. That\u2019s your role.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Virgil clenched his jaw, his knuckles white against the wrench. He could feel the presence bearing down on him, filling the room like some invisible smog. The voice was right next to him now, oppressive, like a weight on his shoulders.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe wealthy make it work,\u201d it continued, \u201cand the rest of you? You just keep it from burning down.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then, as quickly as it had come, the presence was gone. The air lightened, and the oppressive weight lifted. But before Virgil could breathe, another shift occurred\u2014a new presence, closer, familiar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n This one was different. More grounded. A deeper warmth in the air, like someone had struck a match and let the heat slowly build. He could sense it to his left, by the old pool pump. He turned his head slightly, focusing on the feeling\u2014like standing next to an old friend in a bar after a long shift.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou know that\u2019s a load of crap, right?\u201d The second voice was gruff, with a hard edge, like someone who\u2019d been through enough to see the world for what it was. \u201cWithout us, there\u2019s no business. It\u2019s the workers that make everything run.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Virgil nodded to himself, recognizing the presence now, the familiar echo of union halls and picket lines. He knew this one well.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhen we stood together, we had real power,\u201d the voice continued. \u201cYou remember those days, don\u2019t you? Unions fighting for fair wages, healthcare, retirement. Those CEOs? They didn\u2019t create that. We did. We earned it, every single damn day.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Virgil\u2019s chest tightened. He could picture the men his father worked with, their faces lined with age and experience. Men who worked the lines, day in and day out, never asking for anything more than what was fair. And they fought for that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe rich like to pretend they\u2019re the reason we have anything, but it\u2019s a lie. Without unions, without the workers demanding respect, everything falls apart.\u201d The voice shifted slightly, and Virgil could almost feel the presence hovering by his side, steady and constant. \u201cYour father, your grandfather\u2014they knew that. You know it too. It\u2019s us who keep things going.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Virgil stared at the heater, his mind swirling with memories\u2014picket lines, protest signs, the smell of sweat and grease. His father had always said that the real power lay in numbers, in solidarity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But before he could lose himself in those thoughts, the presence faded, replaced by something colder, sharper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Another shift in the air. Another presence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n This one was different\u2014more demanding, more intense. Virgil felt it in front of him, hovering just over the pool\u2019s surface, an invisible force that pressed against his skin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou think it\u2019s enough just to protect what we have?\u201d the third voice came, strong and sharp, like a blade cutting through the fog. \u201cThe workers make businesses thrive. Not the executives, not the boards. It\u2019s the people doing the work who deserve the rewards.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Virgil\u2019s gaze darted toward the pool, his breath catching in his throat. This presence, this voice\u2014it wasn\u2019t asking for scraps. It wasn\u2019t here for a fair shake. It was demanding more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThey\u2019ve been taking from you, from all of us, for decades,\u201d the voice insisted. \u201cHigh wages, healthcare, real retirement\u2014that\u2019s not a favor. It\u2019s a right. And it\u2019s time you started demanding it. No more of this \u2018trickle-down\u2019 nonsense. The rich get richer, and you get nothing. That ends now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The presence moved, its intensity filling the room. Virgil could feel it swirling around him, pushing at him, urging him to do more than just listen. It was like a current, pulling him into its tide.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThey think they can keep you in line with a few dollars, but you\u2019ve earned more than that. It\u2019s your work that makes these businesses run. It\u2019s your sweat that keeps the gears turning. You deserve more, Virgil. All of us do. And it\u2019s time to start taking it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Virgil\u2019s pulse quickened. The voice wasn\u2019t wrong. The workers, the people breaking their backs day after day, had always been given the least, while the ones at the top reaped the benefits. He had seen it all his life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The presence hovered near, pressing its truth into his bones. \u201cIt\u2019s not just about protecting what you have. It\u2019s about taking what\u2019s yours. Don\u2019t let them steal any more of your life.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Virgil stood there, the room heavy with the echoes of the three voices, each one pulling him in a different direction. The first, with its cold, businesslike logic. The second, with its warmth and solidarity. And the third, with its righteous anger, demands more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting a soft glow across the terrace. Rachael wiped her hands on her apron, dirt smudging her fingers from hours spent in the garden. The scent of rosemary and soil still clung to her as she carried a tray of tea and biscuits. Her eyes darted toward the pool where she had watched Virgil earlier, his hands buried deep in the heater’s guts while he muttered to himself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She\u2019d seen him talking to himself before. It wasn\u2019t unusual. Everyone did it from time to time. But today, something had been different. The way he paused, as if listening to responses she couldn\u2019t hear. His head turned slightly, like he was acknowledging someone. It wasn\u2019t one conversation\u2014it was several. And though there was no one else there, Rachael had felt a strange presence, an intangible weight in the air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Virgil was seated at the small stone table, the one they shared morning coffee at, now absorbed in a sudoku puzzle. The pencil hovered in his hand, but his mind seemed elsewhere, his eyes unfocused. She set the tray down, the clink of porcelain pulling him back to the moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTea\u2019s ready,\u201d she said lightly, taking a seat across from him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThanks,\u201d Virgil muttered, though he didn\u2019t immediately reach for it. His eyes drifted back to the puzzle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Rachael poured herself a cup, watching him carefully. She knew him well enough to sense when something was off, and today, it was more than just an off day. But she had learned not to press too hard. Virgil wasn\u2019t a man who reacted well to pressure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n They sat in silence for a while, the garden’s hum filling the quiet. Birds chirped, a soft breeze ruffled the leaves, and yet, beneath it all, she could still feel that lingering presence. Like it hadn\u2019t entirely left.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Rachael took a slow sip of tea, finally breaking the silence. \u201cI saw you earlier. By the pool.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Virgil tensed slightly but kept his eyes on the puzzle, filling in a number with more force than necessary. \u201cYeah?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019ve heard you talk to yourself before, Virgil,\u201d she began, keeping her voice calm and steady. \u201cBut today was\u2026 different. It sounded like you were having a full-on conversation. With more than one person.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He paused, his pencil stopping mid-air. Slowly, he put it down and exhaled, his shoulders dropping as though he had expected this conversation and dreaded it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI was,\u201d he said simply, still not meeting her gaze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Rachael leaned forward slightly, setting her cup down. \u201cWho are they?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Virgil closed his eyes briefly, running a hand through his hair. \u201cThey\u2019re not people, Rachael. I don\u2019t\u2026 see them. I don\u2019t know them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThen who are they?\u201d Her voice was gentle, probing but not accusing. She trusted him\u2014trusted his mind\u2014but she needed to understand. \u201cWhat are they?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Virgil sat back, finally looking at her, his face lined with thought. \u201cThey\u2019re just\u2026 presences. Voices. They\u2019re there, but they\u2019re not there<\/em>. I can\u2019t explain it. I just know they\u2019re real.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Rachael studied him, her brow furrowing, but not in disbelief\u2014more in concern. \u201cYou hear them? Like, conversations?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYeah.\u201d He nodded, the tension in his voice palpable. \u201cThey talk to me. Sometimes they argue with each other. Politics, life, work\u2026 it\u2019s like listening to a debate.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAbout what?\u201d she pressed, leaning in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He hesitated, unsure of how to convey the strangeness of it all without sounding mad. \u201cAbout everything. About how the world works. Business, power, unions, the rights of workers. It\u2019s all these perspectives\u2014like they\u2019re pulling me in different directions. And I know it sounds crazy, but they\u2019re not dangerous, Rachael. I\u2019m not in danger.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Rachael listened carefully, her mind working to process what he was telling her. She could feel the intelligence behind his words, the way he was trying to break down something that even he couldn\u2019t fully comprehend. But this was Virgil\u2014PhD in mathematics, a man who built businesses from the ground up. He wasn\u2019t someone prone to flights of fancy. If he said there were voices, presences\u2026 she had to believe there was something to it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd they\u2019ve been coming for a while?\u201d she asked, her voice calm, as though they were discussing something as routine as a garden plant that needed tending.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYeah,\u201d he admitted, his tone softening. \u201cA couple of years, on and off. Sometimes they\u2019re quiet for weeks, and other times\u2026 they just won\u2019t shut up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Rachael let out a slow breath, reaching for one of the biscuits on the tray. She didn\u2019t know how to feel\u2014worry wasn\u2019t the right emotion. If it had been anyone else, she might have questioned their sanity, but not Virgil. He was steady, brilliant, grounded. He had always seen the world differently, understood things she couldn\u2019t. That was part of why she loved him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDo they say anything about me? About us?\u201d she asked, her tone soft but curious.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Virgil shook his head. \u201cNo. They\u2019re not interested in us. They don\u2019t care about personal stuff. It\u2019s always\u2026 bigger than that. Like they\u2019re here to discuss how the world should work, what\u2019s broken, what needs fixing. It\u2019s frustrating sometimes because they never agree. It\u2019s like watching three sides of an argument, and none of them is willing to back down.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Rachael nodded, processing it all. It wasn\u2019t the first time he\u2019d gotten lost in philosophical debates. But this was different\u2014it wasn\u2019t just his mind running in circles. These voices, these presences, were feeding the thoughts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDoes it feel dangerous?\u201d she asked quietly, folding her hands in her lap.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo.\u201d Virgil looked directly at her, his eyes clear and certain. \u201cIt doesn\u2019t feel like a threat. It\u2019s just\u2026 there. It\u2019s like they\u2019re trying to make me see things from every angle.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She studied him for a long moment. Her trust in him, in his mind, never wavered. But that didn\u2019t mean she didn\u2019t have questions. \u201cVirgil, I know you\u2019re not losing it. You\u2019ve got a better head on your shoulders than anyone I know. But\u2026 if it ever feels like they\u2019re pushing you too hard, or if something changes\u2014will you tell me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Virgil smiled, a small, grateful curve of his lips. \u201cYeah, I\u2019ll tell you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Rachael reached across the table, placing her hand on top of his. \u201cYou don\u2019t have to carry this alone, you know. You\u2019ve always been brilliant, but you\u2019ve also got me. We can figure it out together.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He squeezed her hand, relief washing over him. In that moment, he realized why he had never told anyone else about the voices. It wasn\u2019t fear of being judged or thought insane. It was because no one but Rachael would have understood. She wasn\u2019t there to fix him or make him feel small. She was there because she believed in him\u2014even when things didn\u2019t make sense.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As they sat in the warmth of the late afternoon, the quiet presence seemed to linger just out of reach. But it was distant now, and for once, Virgil felt like it didn\u2019t have control over him. Not today.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The soft clatter of Virgil\u2019s fingers against the keyboard echoed through the studio, the afternoon light filtering in through the tall windows. He paused, staring at the half-finished manuscript on his screen, the middle novel of the five-volume series that had consumed his focus for months. The story was complex, winding through layers of themes about power, society, and the deep struggles of humanity\u2014but as much as it absorbed him, something else weighed on his mind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He reached for his coffee cup, taking a slow sip, his eyes shifting to the far corner of the room. There, where the light didn\u2019t quite reach, he sensed it. The presence. No, presences<\/em>. They were back\u2014the same three from the day before.<\/p>\n\n\n\n They lingered in the studio, quiet, but he could feel them. They weren\u2019t arguing today, not like before. There was a heaviness about them, almost as if they were waiting for something. Their silence was worse than their debates. Virgil took another sip of coffee, letting the warmth settle in his chest before setting the cup down. He could feel their unease, their tension. It made his skin prickle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He sighed and leaned back in his chair, finally addressing the air that felt thick with their presence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou\u2019re all quiet today,\u201d he muttered, running a hand through his hair. \u201cWhat\u2019s the matter? You\u2019re not usually the silent type.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Virgil sat up straighter, his mind turning over the last conversation they had in the pool house. The debates, the tug of war over politics, wealth, and power. They\u2019d left him agitated, pulled between perspectives that all felt real, but none seemed fully right. He exhaled and rubbed the bridge of his nose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou\u2019re worried,\u201d he said aloud, eyes drifting back to the corner. \u201cI can feel it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Still, they didn\u2019t respond. He felt a growing sense of impatience, a weight pushing down on him, like they expected something from him. Something deeper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n So he gave them what they wanted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe two-party system,\u201d Virgil began, his voice low but steady, \u201cit\u2019s built on two pillars that keep this whole structure upright. On the right, you\u2019ve got the pillar that protects the wealthy\u2014the elite. Their entire goal is to keep the rich in power, to make sure the wealthy hold the keys to everything. It\u2019s always been about control, about concentrating power in fewer and fewer hands.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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