Cooper.

Three.

I step into the entryway to have my ears assaulted by the surround sound system. The speakers are blaring so loudly that I swear that my grandmother's crystal vase on the table by the entry window is vibrating with the sound of a newscaster's voice. I clamp my hands over my ears, squeezing my eyes shut. It's too loud. "Dad!" I holler out. "Turn it down!"

The volume drops dramatically. "Laura. Come in the living room. Now." His low baritone is flat and somber - Family Meeting Voice.

I cart my duffle with me into the living room, hoping and praying to any sort of god or gods that this isn't about the graffiti. I drop the duffle in the doorway. "Yeah, Dad?"

My father sits in the plush beige recliner on the opposite side of the room. A rather stately man, my father is around six and a half feet tall, with close cut salt-and-pepper hair and a steely beard. His eyes are small and beady, set deeply into his face, like two tiny topazes set into his skin.

Although my dad looks like he could snap someone in half, the reality is that unless you threaten him or the ones he loves, he's harmless. A teddy bear. He's among the most gentle men in the community, and everyone loves his sandwich shop on the end of Orwell.

"Do you guys cover current events in school?" He asks, his baritone serious.

"Uh, kind of."

"Have you heard of GlobalInc?"

It takes me a second to think. "I think Mrs. Keller brushed over it in economics. They're some big corporation that's buying out small countries and stuff, right?"

"Mhmm." He nods grimly, his eyes transfixed on the television. "I need you to watch this. It ain't right."

I plop down on the big, olive sofa next to my mother as my dad turns up the volume, the little blue bar growing until the volume is near deafening.

Some blonde newscaster from MSNBC is reading the teleprompter, her eyes unable to hide her mild panic. "...the deal GlobalInc has announced today has included Great Britain, France, Italy, Spain, Canada, China, Russia, and the United States..."

"Dad-" Panic creeps into my voice as the hair on my arms stands up.

"Just listen."

With each word the newscaster reads, her voice continues to quiver.

"...they were the final nations to strike a deal with GlobalInc...GlobalInc is now a world power..."

I turn to look at my dad, an Afghanistan veteran, among the first to return home. "Dad, what does this all mean?"

My dad switches the volume off, opting to turn the subtitles on as he speaks to me, his eyes transfixed on the television. "It means that the world is literally run entirely by businesses."

"Wouldn't that be a good thing?" I ask quietly, shrugging my shoulders. "I mean, this might be good for the world economy. They'll probably make an international currency. From business perspective-"

"Good for business, yes," my father turns to look at me, his gaze icy, "but only for a little while. You have one corporation running every country on earth. Every single one." He pauses, and I notice that his enormous paws are digging into the arms of the recliner. "These are business men. Big guys, CEO's of megacorporations that have no business running the world. They're cold. Cruel. Heartless. That's how business works."

"But after they stop making money, or run out of things to do with their money, then what's going to happen?"

"Bad things, Laura." My mother's voice is hushed and dry, shaky, as if she'd been crying. "Your father's right. Nothing good is going to come out of this."

She looks down into her lap, her dark, wavy hair falling into her face. She tucks some behind her ear, her deep blue eyes hazy and unfocused - a sure sign that there was more to her words than she was willing to let on, that she was only telling me bare minimum of what was going on inside that head of hers.

Mom and Dad agreeing completely on something?

Is it that bad? Must be.

My eyes dart momentarily to the television, where the newscaster's bright red lips are moving but no sound is coming out. Her eyes are tired, dead. I try to focus on the subtitles in order to tell me what's going on, what the hell she could possibly be saying with that exhausted and miserable look of hers, but I can't help but let my gaze wander back up to those sad, desperate, pleading eyes.

It's like shes internally begging for help.

"Capitalism kills, Laura." My father comments gruffly, leaning back in the recliner. The lamplight from the lamp on the end table falls strangely on his face, adding decades to his forty two years with tiny shadows. He picks up the remote with his paws and unmutes the television, his hand lingering in the air.

The blonde telecaster continues reading her teleprompter, her bright green eyes beading up with tears. This was live television, and they couldn't just Photoshop it out.

Could it be so bad that she was crying? None of what she's saying sounds awful enough to move someone to tears.

"...schools, businesses, homes...unforeseeable future for the job market...future of the economy up in the air...international debts may or may not be eradicated..."

I feel like my brain is going numb. The hairs are still standing straight up on my arms and my stomach is flipping, doing cartwheels over and over and over again.

Something the woman says causes my mother to let out a sharp gasp before abruptly standing up and storming into the kitchen. I hear her forcefully grab the cordless phone off of the charger. The screen door to the deck creaks open. Slams shut again.

I return my attention to the TV in front of me.

"...all property of GlobalInc."