Their products were dangerous by design. Western & Sons Rifle dated back to 1847. Their guns gained a foothold during the gold rush. They soared in popularity during the Civil War. And the Western Rifle rode into American history with the transcontinental railroad.

The deposition room was sumptuous. Velvet cream curtains flanked the floor to ceiling windows. With swirls of gold, navy, and crimson, a thick hand tufted wool rug cushioned the expansive walnut table. The law offices of Constant & Blaise, the attorneys of record for the Western & Sons Rifle, didn’t scream money it bellowed.

A rifle is a tool. In the right hands, it’s a lifesaver. This was Western’s latest tagline. It accompanied the latest promotional materials, press releases, the multimillion dollar gun safety gun rights program, and the new line of handguns marketed to women aged 23 to 47. Nicholas Western liked the old tagline Real Men, Real Guns better, but he knew his big brother Hew was right and times change.

In a slim pencil skirt the secretary entered the room with glasses and a pitcher of ice water. Alf Constant waved her in and motioned towards the conference table. Hew drummed his fingers. Gulping excellent Scotch, Nicholas paced the length of the deposition room. The secretary set down the tray. She froze as she caught Hew’s eyes.

“Human, leave.” Hew’s voice rasped, the words dry as cemetery dust. The woman backed up slowly. Nicholas crackled from the corner and she ran out the door. Constant shook his head and reached for the squat cobalt bottle in his vest pocket.

One drop, two, three. The potion slid down their throats and without fail the transformation began. The brothers had buried the memos on the defective trigger mechanism and the report on the 7 cent product repair. The quick and the dead, the injured and the families of the dead had been quietly paid off or completely discredited. The patriotic charm campaign was gaining traction despite the occasional school shooting and sales were trending up.

“Once this pesky class action suit is squashed we need a long vacation, brother,” Nicholas said. His skin already plumping. Hew rolled his shoulders as his eyes shifted from the color of blood to a twinkling blue. Tall, handsome, vibrating with rugged individualism and good looks, the brothers were ready for the cameras. They shared a glamoured endearing smile as Ras Blaise entered the deposition with the video crew and the opposing counsel.

“Yes, my brother, it has been too too long.”