Faction Explosive Investments [ RNR & Corpos ]

[Makai Dashiell]

ALASSA MAJOR

Wearing | Gear : X | X | X | X | X | L3-37 | Interacting With : Balun Dashiell , Emilia Locke , Dominique Vexx , OPEN


“....that drive was thanks to dad strength. Couldn’t have done that two years ago.”

“Dad strength.” Harlon deadpanned, looking at his closest friend. The Umbaran was walking along the path with Makai, looking skeptical as they headed towards the clubhouse. Round of gravgolf over, they had other business to discuss.

With Phoebe perched on his shoulders, Makai couldn’t really nod the way he wanted to. The young girl had joined them, strategically after her nap and just before lunch, taking part in playing as well, which had just been letting her putt at every hole.

“Dad strength. It builds up over time. First you’re carrying the kid around because your wife did it for over nine months, right? Next thing you know you’ve got the diaper bag, the kid on your shoulders, carrying two flats of berries through the farmers market because your wife wants to make homemade jam because the kid eats jam sandwiches like crazy.”

“This sounds like less of an example and more of a true story…”

“It may be based on a true story. I should have brought you a jar of the jam.” Makai chuckled and shook his head, reaching up to grab Phoebe's ankle to keep her steady as they went up a small hill. “Next time you and Gaia come over…maybe when all this hyperspace craziness is settled. We’d love to have you two.”

“It may have to wait, two is about to become three.”

“No way! Congrats man.” Reaching out, Makai clasped Harlon’s shoulder and gave him a little shake. “Welcome to the club.”

Talk continued as they entered the clubhouse and through lunch.Towards the end though, while Phoebe was eating her ice cream, did things turn serious. It wasn’t just the hyperlanes, it seemed other issues were occurring. Issues that couldn’t be attributed to a changing galaxy.

“...you’re not supposed to know this but there’s rumors going around Cortessan Finance Group is not what it seems. Credit laundering is the rumor. I talked to father about it, there’s not enough evidence - yet. More whispered rumors on business lunches.” Harlon motioned around. “ Than anything solid.”

Beside him, Phoebe seemed riveted as she carefully spooned her desert, looking between the two men.

“I spoke to Casteel nearly a month ago when I got a loan for Aina Holdings. He didn’t mention this.”

“Casteel isn’t going to mention this. One, he’s in massively deep from the Empress Teta occupation and trying to drum up business. Two, you know his brother is friends with Sion Eres of, you guessed it, Cortessan Finance Group. Sion was two years up from us in the fraternity, he had a meteoric rise over the past six years. A little too meteoric for my taste. Even family connections can go so far, and Cortessan Finance Group isn’t his family’s company. I don’t even know much about Cortessan Finance Group and I own a rival finance organization.”

Makai absorbed the information, mulling it over.

“I think DRF contracted with Cortessan for loans and investment management. Not quite sure, DRF is more Dad and Bale’s pet project than mine.”

“I can say with confidence Mak ; any company who has done business with Cortessan is bound to have a data breach. Don’t underestimate how many associates they have and how far they will go.”

FARSTINE'S ORBIT

In orbit above Farstine, a space station suddenly explodes. A space station that had been contracted by the likes of Rachne Industries, Elatar Enterprises, Aina Holdings, Dashiell Relief Fund, Arceneau Trade, and more. Thousands of lives are lost. Research, financial files, proprietary equipment are burned or tossed into the vast reaches of space.

Owner of the space station? Cortessan Finance Group.

On the surface of Farstine, an investigation has been called by the corporations. By the families of workers. By those who depended on the space station for their livelihood in one form or another.

A crowd gathers outside the Cortessan Finance Group building, yet the silence of the group is overwhelming.

 

[Balun Dashiell]

EXPLOSIVE INVESTMENTS
INVENTORY: Spacer Apparel, Lightsaber & K-16 Bryar Pistol.
TAGS: Makai Dashiell | Emilia Locke | Dominique Vexx | Open

Farstine, Orbit.

The Nomad, a hulking Commercial Heavy Freighter, drifted silently through the void at low impulse, its hull reflecting the dim glimmers of distant starlight and the smoldering remnants of disaster. All around them floated the twisted wreckage of what was once a space station—now reduced to drifting debris and scorched fragments, slowly spinning in the vacuum like gravestones in the black.

Balun Dashiell sat at the helm, his jaw tense, eyes scanning the scattered ruin ahead. In the co-pilot's chair beside him, Vesha Daruun held his infant son, Kellan, gently nestled in her arms. The baby stirred but didn't cry, as if sensing the tension. Behind them, the squat form of 'Chip', a BB-model astromech, remained docked at one of the freighter's droid ports, its dome swiveling slightly as it monitored comms traffic across the sector, recording every stray signal or fluctuation.

Balun's voice broke the stillness, tight with conviction as he spoke into his headset. "No, Dad. You don't need to come here. I told you already—I've got this. It's not my first investigation," he said, directing the message across the stars to Judah Dashiell. There was a firm edge in his tone, though beneath it lay a quiet plea to be trusted. "As much as you don't like the Jedi, this is what we do, remember?"

Both men had poured heart and credits into the Dashiell Relief Fund—an idealistic pursuit meant to bring aid where war and politics had failed. But now, that same vision had suffered a devastating blow. The loss of the orbital station had cost lives—engineers, medics, and volunteers alike—and Balun knew that the burden of accountability fell squarely on the shoulders of those in charge. Someone had to investigate, to make sense of the senseless. And if foul play was involved, they would have to answer for it.

"I know," Balun continued, rubbing his temple as Judah's voice crackled over the comm, "and I will meet with their CEO planetside. But you've got your hands full with this whole Hyperlane crisis and the missing freighters. Dashiell Incorporated is stretched thin. I don't need to remind you that some of our ships are still unaccounted for."

He paused, his voice softening. "Just trust me with this. Let me handle it. You deal with your end, alright?"

The silence that followed was louder than the static.

Though his father rarely intended it that way, Balun always felt like he was trying to measure up—constantly defending his choices, explaining his intentions. Judah seemed untouchable, always composed, always capable. In comparison, Balun often felt like he was stumbling through the galaxy on uncertain footing, unsure whether the path he walked was noble or naïve, right or ruinous.

And yet, here he was. Doing what had to be done.

"Speech".
'Thought'.