HEART OF GOLD | CORIOLANUS SNOW

𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 12

Like the Snows, the Golds were old Capitol through and through. Unlike the Snows, the Golds had never been on the brink of bankruptcy—not that Coriolanus was aware anyway. Perhaps their wealth had suffered during the Dark Days, owing to their considerable stakes in luxury goods. Or perhaps it hadn't.

By his estimate, the Golds owned more than two-thirds of the refineries around Panem, everything from ore reduction facilities to sugar mills to coal treatment plants. He knew Plinth Industries to have strong business ties with Pure Gold, the Triple G—formally Gold Global Group—subsidiary that had been their supplier of processed metals for decades; had heard Aurelianus and Midas Gold mentioned frequently, and always favourably, during his Sunday morning sessions with Strabo back in his university days, whereby his benefactor would share and he'd learn about the "family" company.

In Coriolanus's study of the organization's accounts when he'd become interim chair, he was surprised not to find any reprehensible trace of Strabo's bias. The man was generally upright, but he was not beneath buying his way into anything; he'd even bought himself a son. So who was to say he couldn't be bought himself? Everyone had a price. Coriolanus even took the pains to consult with the procurement manager, but no exclusive rights of any sort had been endorsed, written or otherwise.

The only long-term pact that existed had been initiated by Plinth Industries in an attempt to secure and reinforce the prized partnership—a move wholly justifiable by Pure Gold's stellar track record. While their executives had been unable to commit any fixed rates, as an act of goodwill, an agreement had been reached: signed at the end of the war and to be renewed every twenty-five years at the consent of both parties, it stated that Pure Gold would bid at every Plinth Industries invitational submission.

Given their market share, Pure Gold could have easily jumped on the opportunity and negotiated for a much more lucrative deal at their end. But no: all project tenders they had won, before or since, were by nothing more or less than true economic virtue, besting their rivals with their reputation for reliability, customer and after-sales service excellence, and top-grade products that could meet the stringent standards prescribed by the national military for arms manufacturing.

By no means were they the cheapest—their competitors had no qualms compromising, or even sacrificing, profits to achieve that status—but for the quality, what they charged was plenty reasonable. And while most other suppliers only aimed to pass the annual audit, which was the minimum requirement to remain contracted, Pure Gold was not most other suppliers. Constant innovation not only kept them relevant and ahead of rising costs but ensured that, every year without fail, they would ace the inspection with flying colors.

That was the thing about the Golds, or at least their corporate entities: They operated on the basis of integrity and prided themselves on providing the most value for money. Engaging them, you'd never have to fear being ripped off or short-changed. In return, one could not hope to take advantage of them. If there was one thing the Triple G conglomerate did capitalize on, it was the knowledge that they were leaders in their trades. And that was worth something, if not a lot.

Despite the obvious overlaps, Coriolanus was not well acquainted with the Golds. They were one of those families that were generationally out of sync with the Snows—he was too young to have crossed paths with the parents; too old to have attended school together with the children. Although Aurelianus Gold had long passed on, Coriolanus had had the fortune of meeting his only son, Midas, several times, albeit none in the capacity of Plinth Industries' successor. They had always been Gamemaker and sponsor, like tonight; Aurora was amongst the largest commercial contributors to the Hunger Games.

Of course, he wouldn't consider them familiar. Although the idea had originated from him, Coriolanus had never been part of the team dedicated to seek out patrons. Not that his charm wouldn't be useful in this department, but he'd deemed it more rewarding to apply his talents towards evolving the Games on the entertainment front; this, at least, challenged him. From the limited interactions they'd had, however, his impression of Midas was congruous with that he'd gleaned from Strabo: a man of few words, if rather austere.