His fingers pinch corner of his paper, her screams still echoing in his mind as clearly as if they were out there in the halls right now. But there was no guilt in what he had done, only frustration that he couldn't get more. She had been the only one to provide something of use, yet even that was a mystery to him. 

He carefully pressed out the corner back to its original glory, or as best as he could and laid the paper back against the rest of the strain. Sitting back against the black leather chair, he shuts his eyes, squeezing his finger and thumb against the highest point of the bridge on his nose.

The thought of following down the same path as his forefathers angered him. He had to finish this, to show each and every one of them that they were not even trying. The reasons why they could not forget their history were becoming lost. 

With each generation it seemed a piece of the truth broke away, disappearing into the depths of the ocean along with those innocent lives. How could they forget them? How could they forget all the blood that was spilled in the following years? If it hadn't been for his fiance, he was sure that he would have also forgotten. But she was the slapping reminder he needed. The creatures continue on without justice being brought upon them.

His lucky break came in the form of three, but it still left him with questions upon questions. Years he spent on the ocean bouncing from vessel to vessel from Virginia to South Carolina, all the money he invested into these vessels and all that came with it would have seemed pointless until they miraculously appeared. Where they came from? He didn't know, nor did he care. They had come, completely niave to what awaited them. 

Only a name was left behind from them. A name was better than nothing. He could find something with a name. Of all the money and resources, there was no way he couldn't. A burning determination to make this name become something more burned hot in his chest. The man sat up and reached for his phone, quickly dialing a number as he brought it to his ear. It only rang twice before a voice came on the other end.

"Jonas Profit," he says. He waits as the one who answered the phone patches him through. As he waits, he fixes the position of his paperweight so that it lined perfectly parallel to the stack of papers in front of him. When a voice finally comes through, he grins. "It's your lucky day, son."