The CBC courier delivered a large envelope containing the first advance check for Percy's voice acting contract, made out directly to the Perseus Star Trust, per Mr. Harding's instructions: $7,000.
Liana's eyes lit up. "See, Percy? This is real income. Professional. It proves your genius." Relief washed over her—finally, the money was entering the trust through a perfectly legitimate, verifiable paper trail. The CBC of all places—it completely erased the nervous energy left from the lawyer's audit warning days earlier.
Percy, however, had his attention fixed elsewhere. He clutched the remaining $800 cash from his initial delivery, intent on using it to pay off the last outstanding debt to his logistics contact, Vic, for the initial gold exchange. "I want to come with you to the bank," he told Liana, "to practice counting the deposit." She smiled at the chance to teach him another lesson in financial responsibility and gladly accompanied him to the CIBC branch near their apartment.
While Liana chatted with the branch manager about setting up a joint account for the new CBC funds, Percy quietly slipped away with his envelope of cash. He found the discreet 'safe drop' box near the front entrance, normally reserved for the Bay Street lawyers. Inside, he placed the envelope along with a simple note for Vic, instructing him to retrieve the funds and clear the balance from their initial exchange.
It was Percy's final logistical maneuver—clean, precise, and untraceable. The $800 would no longer be linked to their apartment. The black market dealings were closed.
Back home, Liana immediately began imagining a new, respectable piece of furniture purchased with the first paycheck. Percy, meanwhile, settled on the rug, spreading out a fresh set of colored pencils. He began to draw a large, exacting grid—not a childish sketch, but a geological map.
The money, the cover, the planted map—all were in place. The next step was operational: ensuring that when Liana discovered the grid, she would know which academic contacts to mobilize for exploration.
Percy's hand hovered over the grid, then he took the thick, gold-colored pencil and drew a cross-section, marking the precise axial plunge of the Golden Giant Mine structure from his vision. With a single, coded symbol—the Perseus Star—he marked the spot. The gold was no longer just a vision, a forgery, or a criminal exchange; it had become a tangible geological problem waiting for his mother to solve.
The apartment was cold and quiet the following Sunday morning. Percy knew the planted map alone wasn't enough; Liana had to feel compelled to open the specific volume again. She complained about the poor data set she had received from her new U of T lab assistant, struggling to reconcile it with her understanding of the Hemlo Greenstone Belt mineralization.
Percy, adopting his most professional "child genius" persona, leaned over her lecture notes on the dining room table. "Mama," he said, touching a diagram of an isoclinal fold structure, "Your data is wrong. The true lateral vector for the Hemlo Greenstone Belt is published, but you misremembered the 1937 McConnell data. The true lateral vector is a 7° shear."
The 7° shear was a piece of highly obscure geological data from Percy's Golden Eye vision. Liana's eyes widened. She instinctively dismissed the source—her three-year-old son—but the technical term lodged itself in her professional memory as a potential error. The only way to verify it was to re-check the historical surveys. The academic trap was sprung.
Unable to ignore the potential mistake, Liana abandoned her Sunday prep and took a taxi toward the off-campus Robarts Library Storage Annex, determined to find the Minor Geological Surveys, 1937 volume to disprove the 7° shear claim now buzzing in her mind. Percy accompanied her, quietly playing with a small plastic toy.
While Liana signed the log book to request the volume, Percy executed his final piece of subtle priming. He drew a quick sketch of a perfect isoclinal fold on the back of his hand, then pretended to rub his eye, smearing the ink onto a page of the log book. The faint impression now rested near the entry for the 1937 McConnell volume, planting the visual evidence of the gold structure in her subconscious before she even saw the map.
Exasperated, Liana returned home. The 1937 volume had not yet been re-shelved; a student assistant informed her she would have to wait until Monday. She tried to dismiss the 7° shear from her mind when Percy sat beside her, drawing with his colored pencils.
He pointed to the Golden Grid he had drawn. "The gold," he said quietly, "The gold follows the line where the isoclinal fold makes the 7° shear."
Liana looked at the drawing—a child's abstraction—but the perfect, specific combination of two geological concepts, both obscure, both correct, gave her a cold shudder of professional doubt. The moment had arrived: she transitioned from rationalizing his "genius" to fearing his knowledge.
"Percy," she asked, her voice tight, "Where did you hear those words?"
Percy looked up, maintaining innocent eye contact, and delivered his first calculated lie, a perfect deflection of his prophetic vision: "I heard it on the CBC Radio while you were doing the voice job. They were talking about the old mines."
Liana nodded slowly, reassured by the CBC cover story. A legitimate, professional source. Her paranoia subsided, replaced by an urgent academic drive. She would be the first one at the library on Monday morning to find that volume.