The frost on the black iron and leaded glass bridge connecting the Sheltner building with its twin across Drucker street still shimmered in the noonday sun. Jets of white steam filled the air around a blue and gold Peregrine dirigible as it fought tricky city winds to deftly maneuver into a docking position at the Sheltner Observation Concourse ten stories up. Its decorative tassels had become enormous jewels cased as they were in a thin coating of ice that refracted the daylight into rainbow bursts.

Thompson always loved winter in Epic City. There seemed to be a pleasant transformation to everything he saw, a shift from the everyday reality of stone and iron to a world of fairy dust and magic clouds. He especially loved snow. It blanketed the world with purity, hiding all of the city’s flaws and blemishes. There was no snow yet, but it would come.

As Thompson wistfully gazed upon the city on the first official day of winter he took solace in the season. Soon he and his family would settle in to celebrate Yule. He smiled to himself, content that the mistletoe and red candles were perfectly placed, and that he had purchased the perfect gifts for everyone. He could almost smell the aromatic Yule Log as it burned in his living room fireplace filling his home with the wonderful smells of the holiday season.

“Hey Thompson, what’re you looking at?” came the voice of Venessa Jackson as she entered his office her arms filled with paperwork.

“Hmm?” he replied, suddenly wrenched back to the grim reality of the worst week he could remember in a long time. “Oh, Venessa,” he stammered on, “wh-what do you need?”

“What do I need?!?” Venessa’s voice reflected her indignation. “Don’t you mean what do you need? I’ve been working all morning to scrounge this stuff up.” With a huff Venessa unloaded her burden of many multi-colored folders all over Thompson’s desk, waiting for some form of recognition from her associate. When it was obvious to her that Thompson still hadn’t caught up she tried to fill him in.

“I’ve gathered all of the information I could find in city records on the Gordon building.” She indicated a pile of green folders. “I’ve organized the Fire Chief’s arson assessment,” she continued, pointing to a stack of red folders. “As you requested I’ve accumulated every bit of information I could find on the McKormic Foundation, though I don’t think it will help you all that much,” she said pointing to a few thin manila folders, “and…” she continued, her hand sliding into and out of a side pocket of her business suit to produced a thin disc cased in a protective gel casing, “I’ve made you a copy of my video tape of the whole incident.”  With a flip of her wrist the disc became the last piece in Thompson’s new pile.