Book I: Part 12: Alison

    ‘You see, Miss Amberginnegan, with your father’s passing, he set aside a portion of his power, his legacy, his wealth, to you.   For the last three months, it has been … in a kind of limbo, if you will.  And the legacy has been set aside—protected—within these stony buildings, until the heir was found to come to and claim it.  Now you have done so, Miss Amberginnegan.  And under our protection, your father’s legacy has been passed on—to you.’
    Alison stared straight ahead. 
    Mosses continued.  ‘Now, of course, if you so desire, you are quite free to withdraw your legacy, and take it elsewhere, or attempt to manage it yourself.  Which of course, we here at Legacy Corps  would be perfectly understanding of.  However, as your executors, we are also happy to maintain and protect your various holdings, assets, and inventions, and will maintain all the ties that will ensure your fortune remains your own.’
      Alison’s throat was dry.  She swallowed, wetting her mouth, then spoke.  ‘How, uh, how much, that is, I don’t mean to sound greedy, but, how much is the, uh...legacy?’
    Mosses Meddleson rocked backwards in his chair.  ‘Ah, well, with a fortune this large, there’s no actual amount, just an abstract concept.’
    ‘Huh?  I’m sorry, I don’t understand.  How can money be an abstract concept?’
    ‘Well, it has a lot to do with the modern economy.’  Mosses Meddleson began pressing buttons on a console and took a remote control out of his desk.  ‘I have prepared a short visual presentation.’
    The lights in the room dimmed.  Along one wall a white screen appeared. 
    ‘You see, often people, corporations—or discorporations, as the case was with your father—earn money based on an investment, or by providing a service.  When income exceed costs, profit results.’ 
     On the screen appeared a stick figure, standing next to a drawing of a huge pile of gold. 
     ‘Some ways of acquiring profits are through patents, or inventions.  You register your invention with an enforcement agency, and then, as people use it—or apply it to other inventions—the enforcement agency makes sure they pay you a percentage of their profit.’ 
     The stick figure walked into a building with a sign reading ‘Enforcement Agency’ over it, then quickly exited, walking back to his gold pile.  Other stick figures appeared and entered the building, and arrows from the building traveled to the pile of gold, which grew larger and larger. 
     ‘As the invention becomes more and more ingrained in peoples lives, and more permutations are built upon it, The profits for the invention increase at a faster and faster rate.’ 
     A graph appeared, the y-axis labeled ‘profit,’ the x-axis ‘time.’  A straight line appeared upon it, headed upwards across the screen. 
    ‘The profits increase and increase, and if more inventions are created—and in the case of your father, many, many more inventions were created—they beget more and more inventions, and more and more profit is accumulated, causing not only profits to go up, but the rate of profit to rise as well.’ 
     Several more graphs, identical to the first, appeared on the screen, connected by plus signs.  They disappeared, replaced by a new graph.    
    ‘Here is a graph of accumulated profit.  The x line is time, the y profit. You see how the slope gradually rises over time, the line going higher and higher?  That’s due to the inventions becoming more and more ingrained in society, often so that we don’t even notice they exist, or they form...a kind of bedrock, upon which many of the tasks we perform throughout our lives are built.’ 
     The line on the graph began moving higher and higher, faster and faster, its slope curving, until…. 
     ‘Well, sometimes, all those accumulated growing rates, they keep getting higher and higher, as more and more profit is acquired more and more rapidly, until the rate of profit becomes so fast, the line becomes vertical.  And a singularity is reached.’
     The line on the graph went straight upwards. 
     ‘Profits has been accumulated so fast that the actual amount of wealth is infinite.  The magician's multitude of inventions are effectively a foundation of society, to the point that society as we know it, could not exist without them.  This singularity of wealth occurred for your father long ago.
    ‘Miss Amberginnegan, you are inheriting a portion of infinite wealth.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Yes.  Quite exciting, isn’t it?’
    ‘What, uh, how much is a portion of,’ Alison gulped.  ‘Infinite.  Wealth.’
    Mosses Meddleson smiled.  ‘Why, infinity, of course!  Oh, Miss Amberginnegan, you are now one of the Kings and Queens of the City!  There are only 87 individuals in all of the City with as much wealth as you.  Why, you can purchase anything, so long as someone is willing to sell it to you.  Which means, of course, that you could theoretically own one eighty-seventh of all property in the city, if you were so inclined.  Maybe more, if you are ambitious.  Why, you can do anything! Anything any person could imaginably want to do, you can do.  Miss Amberginnegan, you are about to embark on a great adventure!’
    A monotone voice that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere spoke over the intercom system. 
    ‘Attention residents of Legacy Corporation Towers,’ it said.  ‘We regret to inform you that Dadalus, the Winged Anarchist, is at present loose inside your skyscraper.  There is no reason to panic; Clockmen have arrived and are dealing with the situation.  However, it is advisable that at the present time you stay in your current location, and await further news.’