Date: August 16–17, 2005 (Crowe’s Analysis)

  Location: Seattle (Analysis of Paris, 1905 Archives)

  On August 16, 2005, James Crowe stood on the Alaskan Way waterfront, gazing at Puget Sound’s shimmering waters. The temperature was a pleasant 72°F, a light breeze carrying salt and seaweed scents while seagulls cried overhead. The waterfront buzzed—tourists snapped photos of ferries, street musicians played for change. In 2005, Seattle thrived: the Bumbershoot Festival loomed, and Death Cab for Cutie planned a tour. But Crowe’s focus was on the documents in his hands.

  He sat on a bench, spreading out his notebook, a red marker, and pages from the “Paris, 1900s” box. Using his “360 Method,” he pictured the Brotherhood’s classroom—a room with desks and a chalkboard. On a table lay sheets with three words: “calm,” “wind,” “mirror.” The five children sat with the sheets. Henri stood by the chalkboard, his expression cold. “Today, you’ll learn to influence with words,” he said. “Create a story that makes another person relax. Build safety. Begin.”

  Sophie wrote: “One day, I sat by a lake where it was so quiet, I felt calm. The wind gently rocked the water, like a mirror reflecting the sky. I forgot all my worries.” She read it aloud, her voice soft. Pierre closed his eyes, smiling, his shoulders relaxing. Louis told a story about “a wind that whispers calm,” even slowing Henri’s breathing.

  Henri’s notes detailed the “Linguistic Influence” method, adapted from Lev Vygotsky’s 1930s work on language as a tool for thought and interaction. Vygotsky, who died in 1934 at 37, gained prominence in the West in the 1960s. The Brotherhood taught children to associate words with emotions, weaving them into stories to affect listeners subconsciously. Louis once persuaded a vendor to lower a price by saying, “This cheese looks like a piece of sunshine—it must warm the heart, right?”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Sarah Wilson approached, strolling along the waterfront. Her dark hair was tied back, her glasses askew. “Mr. Crowe, you’ve escaped the library again?” she asked, her voice tinged with irony. “Writing a novel?”

  Crowe smiled, pushing the documents aside. “Sarah, I’m unraveling the Family’s secrets. They taught their kids to influence with words. Want to hear about it?”

  Sarah sat beside him, teasing, “Only if it’s not a story that’ll make me buy you coffee.”

  Crowe gave a concise rundown, showing Sarah the notes. She shook her head. “That sounds like magic. They could convince anyone of anything.”

  “Exactly,” Crowe replied, his tone serious. “And that scares me.”

  A 2000s London document mentioned 42-year-old Claire Martin, a product of the Brotherhood’s 1970s Paris upbringing. In 2003, Claire convinced an investor to fund a fictitious project with a story about “success waiting ahead, like the sun after a storm.” Crowe realized this method made Family members masters of persuasion.

  “If they could influence people this easily, their power is limitless,” he muttered, unease and awe in his voice.

  Kyle approached, holding a book on linguistics. “You’re here, detective?” he asked warmly. “You look like you’ve uncovered something fascinating.”

  “Let’s just say I figured out how this organization taught its kids to influence with words,” Crowe replied with a faint smile. “They could sell you air, and you’d pay a million for it.”

  Kyle shook his head, astonished. “That sounds like magic. Do you think they used it for scams?”

  “Without a doubt,” Crowe replied, his tone darkening. “And I intend to find out how far they’ve gone.”