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Daniel’s words from the day before still hung in his head—they were hard to shake. Daniel wasn’t blind to the cracks in the system. He’d seen volatility, downturns, panics—and kept going. Built a life, bought a duplex, rode the market.

He called it adaptation.

Said inflation could be outrun. That if you owned assets, stayed invested, trusted the arc—you’d be fine.

And maybe he was right.

If you owned enough.

If you were already in.

Lucas passed a man curled under a thin blanket outside a shuttered corner shop. A sign rested beside him: "Still Looking for Work. Still Hoping."

Farther down, a young woman argued quietly on a cracked phone, a toddler on her hip and a grocery bag at her feet. Her voice was stretched, not angry—just worn.

How were they adapting?

They weren’t rebalancing portfolios.

They were just trying to hold on.

The billboard above the park entrance flashed bright and confident: “Experience More. Pay Later.”

Lucas didn’t even look up.

Thomas was waiting, hands clasped behind his back. They started walking without a word.

After a few minutes, Lucas said, “I got laid off.”

Thomas slowed. “I’m sorry.”

“They said it wasn’t performance. Just headcount. Realignment.” He gave a bitter half-smile. “You know the language.”

“I do,” Thomas said.

“I always figured if I worked hard, kept my head down, I’d be fine. But suddenly... I’m not essential anymore.”

Thomas didn’t respond. He let the quiet fill in the rest.

“I’m not panicked,” Lucas added. “Not yet. I’ve got some savings. I’ll figure it out. But still—yesterday I’m debating Daniel about the structure of the system. Today I’m outside of it.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “What did Daniel say?”

Lucas shrugged. “That the system works—flawed but functional. That we’ve been through worse. That inflation’s bad, but manageable if you own assets. The usual stuff. That sound money sounds good until you hit a crisis and need the Fed to step in.”

They reached a bench and sat.

“Sounds like a man who’s never missed a paycheck,” Thomas said.

Lucas didn’t reply.

Thomas leaned forward. “I’ve heard it all. I believed it for years. But that ‘flexibility’ they praise—it’s not flexibility. It’s moral hazard dressed up as pragmatism. Every downturn becomes a license to print more money, push more debt. The system doesn’t save people. It saves asset prices. And people who don’t own those assets get left behind—quietly, but predictably.”

Lucas said nothing.

“You didn’t lose your job because of performance,” Thomas continued. “You lost it because risk and consequence no longer live in the same place. The system’s built to offload cost and concentrate reward. That’s what fiat enables. Not resilience. Transfer.”

A breeze passed through the bare trees.

“Daniel’s not wrong to want stability,” Thomas said. “But what he calls evolution—I call erosion. Since 2020, real wages are down. Stocks are up. Housing’s up. Groceries are up. But the people doing the work are standing still—or slipping.”

He paused.

“When the Fed prints, it enters at the top—through credit, through banks, through capital markets. The bottom gets inflation. The middle gets squeezed. That’s why the 401(k)s look okay and groceries look like theft.”

He let that sit.

“Fiat doesn’t just warp the economy—it warps trust. It rewards proximity to capital and punishes patience. It breaks the link between effort and reward. Quietly. Systematically.”

Lucas stared at the ground. He felt the truth of it, not as a theory—but as a pressure behind the eyes.

Thomas leaned back. “And deflation? That’s just prices falling because productivity improved. It rewards savers. It makes things cheaper. That’s not chaos—it’s sanity. But they fight it because the system runs on debt, and debt can’t survive falling prices. So they inflate. Always.”

Lucas looked down at the path. “So what do I do?”

Thomas’s voice softened. “First, stop waiting for the system to recognize your value. It won’t. It can’t. Learn how the rules work. Then step outside them—bit by bit.”

Lucas didn’t nod. But he didn’t argue either.

Thomas looked at him more gently now. “Look. I’ve spent most of my life as a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. Made every mistake twice. But the market—it’s a truth machine. Eventually, it teaches you. If you’re willing to listen.”

They sat in silence.

Lucas wasn’t sure what he believed anymore.

But the cracks in his old framework were no longer theoretical.

They had found him.

Ariadne 7mo ago

Scene 8: Two Worlds - Systems Evolve. Or Erode.

Lucas and Daniel grabbed a table by the window at a café near the office—two trays, burgers, fries, and two waters.

Daniel took a bite of his burger and grinned. “Catch the game last night?”

Lucas nodded but was slower to eat, distracted. His thoughts had been elsewhere all morning.

After a few minutes of small talk—project delays, a new hire melting down over the ticketing system—Lucas shifted the conversation.

“Hey,” he said. “Can I ask you something a little weird?”

Daniel leaned back, amused. “Sure. That’s never stopped you before.”

Lucas hesitated, then pushed a fry through ketchup. “I’ve been meeting with this guy I found through a Meetup. He’s been walking me through... well, how money actually works.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “You mean like investing?”

“No, more foundational than that. The whole system—how money’s created, who controls it, why it keeps expanding.”

Daniel set his burger down and wiped his hands, his tone shifting from casual to curious.

“Let me guess—he thinks inflation is theft, the Fed’s a scam, and we should all be stockpiling gold and bitcoin?”

Lucas looked up, surprised. “You’ve heard this before?”

Daniel nodded. “Oh, yeah. I’ve read the sound-money stuff—probably more than most. Listened to a few Ron Paul speeches in the car back in the day. I get the arguments. I just don’t buy the conclusions.”

Lucas leaned forward slightly. “Why not?”

Daniel took a breath. “Because I’ve lived through four recessions, two wars, a global financial crisis, and a pandemic. And the system—flawed as it is—held. While the doomers waited for collapse, I watched people who stayed invested quietly build real wealth.”

He tapped the side of his water cup.

“I’m not saying it’s fair. I’m saying it’s functional. Every system has trade-offs. Go back to a sound money standard, and you get rigidity. No flexibility in a crisis. Massive deflation when things go wrong. Sounds clean on paper—until your paycheck gets cut in half but your mortgage stays the same.”

Lucas frowned. “So we just choose the slow bleed over the sudden collapse?”

Daniel shook his head. “It’s not a bleed. It’s evolution. Yeah, the dollar’s lost value—but my portfolio’s up over 200% since 2020. My house has doubled in price. That’s not magic—it’s credit expansion, productivity, asset inflation. If you sit in cash, you get burned. But if you participate, you benefit.”

Lucas didn’t respond, but the silence wasn’t disagreement—it was friction. He was processing.

Daniel leaned in. “I don’t ignore the risks. I just don’t think we’re teetering on the edge. People have been betting against the dollar since Nixon closed the gold window. And yet—here we are. The dollar’s still the global safe haven.”

He pushed his tray aside.

“Japan’s at 250% debt-to-GDP and still chugging along. Europe had negative rates. China’s a mystery box. We’re not thriving because we’re flawless—we’re surviving because we can adapt.”

Lucas turned to the window. A bus lumbered through the intersection, trailing a ribbon of gray exhaust.

Daniel glanced over, then added, “You know, my dad—he wasn’t a finance guy. Worked with his hands. Saved what he could. Didn’t overthink it.”

He gave a small shrug. “I guess I’m just trying to do the same. Buy index funds. Own a duplex. Keep showing up. Nothing heroic. Just... pragmatic.”

He looked back at Lucas.

“Most people—sound money guys included—just want a fair shot. A chance to save, maybe leave something behind. That’s not ideology. That’s survival.”

Lucas studied him. For the first time, he saw the scaffolding beneath Daniel’s worldview. It wasn’t blind faith. It was inherited pattern. A quiet belief that the future might still rhyme with the past—not because of theory, but because it always had.

Daniel’s voice softened. “I get why you’re drawn to it. The critique feels clarifying. The system’s broken—so burn it down. But what if this is just one of those awkward, transitional decades? What if we fix it—not all at once, but piece by piece?”

Lucas said nothing.

Daniel shrugged. “You don’t have to think everything’s fine. But believing it’s all doomed? That’s a luxury, too.”

Lucas took another sip of water. It felt colder than before.

Outside, people hurried by—heads down, faces lit by phone screens, pulled along by the pulse of the city.

Lucas sat back, the weight of the conversation settling in.

Not because Daniel was clearly wrong.

But because he might be right.

Ariadne 7mo ago

Scene 7: The Missing Piece: How inflation erodes the value of money

Thomas bent down, picking up a small stick from the side of the trail.

He scratched a small circle in the dirt.

“This circle is your money.”

Then he drew a larger circle around it.

“And this is the total money supply. Your money is one small part of the whole.”

Lucas smirked. “Yeah, a very small part.”

Thomas tapped the stick lightly against the ground.

“Now imagine someone adds more money. A few digital keystrokes—poof.”

He scratched out the first outer circle and drew a much bigger one.

“Your piece didn’t change," Thomas said, tracing the inner circle again. "But compared to the whole, it's worth less. You hold the same handful—but it buys you a lot less.”

Lucas stared at the simple drawing, feeling the weight of it settle in.

It was like the value was leaking through his fingers—quietly, invisibly, but real.

“That’s why scarcity matters," Thomas said. "Without it, the other traits—durability, transferability, divisibility, recognizability—mean nothing. Without scarcity, value slips away—the money doesn’t move value through time.”

Lucas shifted his weight. “So that’s what the Mises quote meant? From the Meetup?”

Thomas nodded, his voice steady.

“Yeah. ‘When a government increases the quantity of paper money, the purchasing power of the monetary unit drops, and prices rise. That’s inflation.’”

He stood, brushing his hands off.

“So when we think about good money,” Thomas continued, “we want something that’s: durable, easily transferable, divisible, recognizable—and scarce.”

Lucas stared down at the circles again—the small piece he thought he held, and the larger world that could shift around him without warning.

He tapped his coffee lid absently, thinking.

“Okay, I get it," he said slowly. "I definitely understand money better now. Why we use something like the dollar instead of... three-eyed fish."

He hesitated, the old logic clashing with something he couldn’t yet name.

“But still... what’s the point of all this? I mean, I came to you because things feel off. Like what used to work doesn’t work anymore. And you take me on this detour into money theory…”

Thomas didn’t interrupt, letting the question hang in the air.

Thomas smiled—not dismissive, but knowing.

“Truth is," he said, "you can't fix a leaking boat until you see where the cracks are."

Lucas said nothing.

He looked again at the simple dirt circles, feeling something tighten inside him—a pressure, a weight he hadn’t noticed until now.

As they walked on, the trees around them thinned, and the river widened ahead.

But the ground beneath Lucas’s feet suddenly felt less certain.

Ariadne 7mo ago

Scene 6 – What Makes Good Money?

The river trail was brighter today—early sun burning off the last of the mist. Lucas and Thomas walked side by side, coffees in hand, the gravel crunching rhythmically underfoot.

“So,” Thomas said, breaking the quiet. “Now that you know what money is—a tool to move value across space and time—let’s talk about what makes bad money.”

Lucas raised an eyebrow. “Bad money?”

Thomas grinned. “Yeah. Sometimes it’s easier to spot what doesn’t work first.”

He took a sip of coffee. “Remember that three-eyed fish we joked about?”

Lucas chuckled. “Yeah. That seems like a pretty bad form of money.”

“Right. Why is that? Why don’t people use fish as money?”

Lucas thought aloud. “Well... it would be disgusting to carry around.”

“Exactly. And impractical. Money needs to be easily transferable. You should be able to move it anywhere—across town, across the world—without needing an ice chest.”

Lucas laughed. “Yeah, not great for Amazon checkout.”

They walked on.

“What else?” Thomas prompted.

Lucas considered. “It would rot. A dead fish doesn’t last long.”

Thomas smiled. “True. Durability’s key. Good money has to survive over time. It can’t decay, spoil, or fall apart.”

“And?” Thomas pressed.

Lucas glanced at his coffee. “It should be divisible. I need to pay for small things, like this coffee, and big things, like a car. If you can't split it and combine it easily, it’s not much use.”

“Right. Money needs to scale—up and down—with no friction.”

Lucas nodded. “And it should be recognizable too. If you had to DNA-test every fish to buy a coffee, no one would bother.”

Thomas smiled again. “Exactly. Fast, easy, trusted. That’s what recognizability gives you.”

Lucas ticked the traits off in his mind: transferable, durable, divisible, recognizable.

Thomas slowed his pace slightly.

"Now," he said, "think about the dollar for a second. Most of it isn’t even paper—it’s just digital. Entries on a bank ledger."

Lucas nodded.

“Digital dollars are very useful as money. They’re easy to transfer—a few taps and you can send money around the globe. They’re extremely durable. They don’t rot or corrode. They’re easily divisible—from billions down to pennies. And they’re highly recognizable, even outside the U.S."

Thomas sipped his coffee.

"That all sounds pretty good, right?"

Lucas frowned slightly. “Okay... so if dollars have all that going for them, why does it still feel like something’s off?”

Thomas smiled again, like he’d been waiting for the question.

"Because there’s one more thing to consider."

Ariadne 7mo ago

Scene 5: What Is Money?

The river trail was cool and quiet, the last of the morning fog hanging low over the water.

Lucas spotted Thomas waiting at a bench, two coffees in hand.

Black,” Thomas said, handing one over. “No cream. I guessed.”

Lucas nodded. “Good guess.”

They started walking, gravel crunching under their feet, the air still and sharp.

Lucas broke the silence. “I’ve been thinking about your question.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “About money?”

“Yeah.” Lucas took a sip of coffee. “It’s a tool. For moving value.”

Thomas smiled slightly. “Go on.”

“Well… say I’m at the store. I hand over a few dollars, they give me a loaf of bread. My money carries the value of my work to their counter. It moves value from me to them.”

Thomas nodded. “Good. That’s money moving value through space. From one person to another. Across a market.”

Lucas shrugged. “Seemed obvious once I thought about it.”

They walked a little farther, the river flowing steady beside them.

“But that’s not all it does, is it?” Thomas said.

Lucas thought for a moment. “No. I mean, I save money too. I don’t always spend it right away.”

Thomas’s expression sharpened. “Exactly. That’s money moving value through time.”

Lucas frowned. “Through time?”

Thomas stopped, turning to face him. “You work today. Earn a hundred dollars. You don’t need it right now, so you hold it. Six months from now, you use it to buy something. That money carried your past effort into the future.”

He let the idea hang in the air.

“You could think of it as... economic memory,” Thomas said.

Lucas repeated the phrase under his breath. “Economic memory.”

He stared at the trail, feeling the weight of it.

“Money isn’t just a way to trade with other people,” he said slowly. “It’s a way to trade with your future self.”

Thomas smiled. “Exactly. Without money, you’re stuck bartering. Hoping you find someone who wants what you have, right when you have it.”

Lucas smirked. “Like trading bread for shoes.”

“Right. And if the cobbler doesn’t need bread today? You’re out of luck.”

They started walking again.

“That’s why money emerged,” Thomas said. “Not because some king decreed it. But because people needed something practical—something others would reliably accept, across space and time.”

Lucas nodded. “So money’s useful because we trust that it’ll work. Someone else will want it, now or later.”

Thomas gave a small nod. “Trust is the foundation. Not magic. Not paper. Trust.”

Lucas sipped his coffee, letting the idea settle.

Thomas’s voice was steady. “The real question isn’t whether money works today. It’s whether it can carry value forward. Whether it will still be trusted tomorrow.”

They walked on in silence for a few minutes, the sun just starting to burn through the fog.

Then Thomas spoke again, almost casually.

“So if money is supposed to move value through space and time… what makes good money?”

Lucas didn’t answer right away.

He wasn’t sure he could yet.

Ariadne 8mo ago

Lucas hadn’t slept much. His mind was still buzzing from the night before—inflation and Spanish gold, that line about what happens when money is easy to make. He wasn’t sure what he expected from this walk, but something told him to show up.

Scene 4: Knives, Cars, and Money

The next morning, the river trail was cool and quiet, lined with fog and the faint smell of wet pine. Lucas spotted Thomas waiting on a bench near the water, two coffees in hand.

“Black,” Thomas said, handing him one. “No cream. I guessed.”

Lucas nodded. “Good guess.”

They started walking. Gravel crunched underfoot. The morning light filtered through the trees.

Thomas broke the silence.

“Can you tell me what a knife is?”

Lucas looked over. “A knife?”

Thomas nodded. “Yeah. What is it?”

“I mean… it’s a knife. It cuts things.”

“Right,” Thomas said. “But more precisely?”

Lucas squinted. “Okay… it’s a sharp blade with a handle. A utensil. Or a weapon, depending.”

Thomas smiled. “Those are descriptions. But what’s it for?”

Lucas paused. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”

“A knife is a tool we use to separate things. That’s what defines it.”

Lucas took a sip of coffee. “Alright… I see.”

“Do you?” Thomas asked. “What about a car?”

Lucas furrowed his brow. “That one’s easy. A car is... well, it’s a vehicle. With wheels. An engine. You use it to get around.”

Thomas gave him the same look.

Lucas exhaled. “I’m doing it again, huh?”

Thomas nodded. “Describing how it looks—not what it does.”

Lucas chuckled. “Okay. Enlighten me.”

“A car is a tool we use to move people and things through space. That’s its job.”

Lucas smirked. “So, you’re a philosopher?”

Thomas grinned. “Just trying to see clearly.”

They passed an older couple in matching windbreakers, a golden retriever trotting between them.

Then Thomas said, “Alright. So—what is money?”

Lucas stopped mid-step.

“Money?”

Thomas nodded again. “If a knife is a tool for separating, and a car is a tool for moving… then what’s money for?”

Lucas opened his mouth. Closed it.

“I… think I know,” he said. “But I want to get it right.”

Thomas nodded. “Take your time. The answer might be more surprising than you think.”

Ariadne 8mo ago

For those following along, in Scene 3 of the story, Lucas thought he was attending a talk on inflation.

Instead, he found a strange sense of conviction among people who believe monetary history isn’t just academic—it’s the key to understanding what comes next. (Guess who plays the inspired speaker at the Meetup nostr:nprofile1qyt8wue69uhh2mtzwfjkctnvda3kzmp6xsurgwqpz4mhxue69uhk2er9dchxummnw3ezumrpdejqqgxy3c5lqj6g9nqpeg0ea7xgdmurrrq9nc8fx5er2930pq8jdc2vzyu7yza6). Here's the scene:

Lucas slipped into the pub just as the Meetup began.

No podiums or projectors—just a side room in a local bar. Sticky floors. Dartboards. The faint smell of fryer grease. Scattered tables, nearly all filled.

At a tall table near the wall sat a man in his 30s—golden hair, calm voice. A laptop was open in front of him.

“Thanks for coming,” he began. “Tonight, we’re talking about a lecture Mises gave in Argentina in 1959. He believed economics shouldn’t be locked away in ivory towers—it should be accessible to anyone who thinks clearly.”

Lucas took a seat along the wall. The lights were low, the room intent. Something about it—the informality, the focus—reminded him of a scene from a colonial tavern, where restless minds once passed around early drafts of Common Sense. It felt less like a lecture, more like a quiet search for something solid beneath a shifting world.

He glanced at the handout:

Lecture 4: Inflation https://mises.org/online-book/economic-policy-thoughts-today-and-tomorrow/4th-lecture-inflation

YouTube: https://youtu.be/VpvwgDjQLGA?si=jG9gykqBScqaWTmo

The speaker continued:

Mises explained, “When a government increases the quantity of paper money, the result is that the purchasing power of the monetary unit begins to drop, and so prices rise. This is called inflation.”

Lucas leaned forward. Maybe the rising cost of living wasn’t just supply chains or corporate greed. Maybe the problem ran deeper—maybe it was the money itself.

The talk moved quickly—16th century Spanish gold flooding the Old World, Weimar Germany, modern governments printing what they can’t tax.

Same pattern, different century:

When money’s easy to make, things start to break.

By the end, Lucas’ mind buzzed—unsettled and overloaded.

He stood quietly, aiming for the door.

“First time?”

Lucas turned.

The voice came from a man in a dark jacket. Late 50s, maybe. Worn face, watchful eyes. The kind of presence that didn’t ask to be noticed.

“Yeah,” Lucas said. “Was it that obvious?”

“No. Just familiar.”

The man extended a hand. “Thomas.”

“Lucas.”

They shook.

“Something you’re looking for?” Thomas asked.

Lucas hesitated. “I… I’m trying to do everything right—work, save, invest—and somehow I still feel behind. I can’t say what’s wrong, but something’s off. Like I missed the part where the rules changed.”

Thomas nodded slowly. “Most people don’t notice until it’s already happening.”

There was a pause. Lucas waited for more, but Thomas didn’t offer it.

“You like to walk?” Thomas asked.

“Sure.”

“I’m at the river most mornings. Come if you want. Sometimes things make more sense in motion.”

Lucas hesitated, then nodded.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

Thomas smiled. “Good. Just one rule.”

“What’s that?”

“No scrolling.”

Ariadne 8mo ago

Scene 2: Through the Looking Glass

Lucas woke up at 2:13 a.m.

No sound. No reason. Just awake. His body tense, like it had been bracing for impact in a dream he couldn’t remember.

He lay still for a while, hoping sleep might return. It didn’t. So, against his better judgment, he reached for his phone.

He opened X.

The algorithm delivered its usual midnight cocktail: half insight, half apocalypse.

A thread on the changing world order. A chart explaining the end of the long-term debt cycle. A map of idle ships at port and a graph showing the collapse of global supply chains. He saw a video—slickly produced—predicting that white-collar jobs like his would be the next to go. "AI will do your work," it claimed. "Faster. Cheaper. Better."

Lucas scrolled on, not out of curiosity but compulsion. He worked hard. He had a decent job. Above-average income. His investments had done well. And still—there wasn’t much left at the end of the month. A down payment felt as distant as early retirement. Starting a family? He couldn’t imagine how.

It felt like Red Queen economics: all the running he could do just to stay in place. The faster you run, the more the world pushes back.

Another post slid by:

“History is the output of the laws of human nature.” Come join us at our local Mises Circle Meetup next week where we discuss current events through history lessons.

He scoffed, then paused. He didn’t understand half of what he’d just read. And the half he did understand made him uneasy.

Then came the next post. White text on black. No likes. No comments.

“Action is the antidote to anxiety.”

Lucas stared at it for a long time.

He had heard of Ludwig von Mises—some economist from a hundred years ago with strong opinions about how economies should work—but he couldn’t say much beyond that.

What should he do?

Ariadne 8mo ago

Just for fun, I’ve started sketching a few short stories about markets and money—part history, part fiction. They’re based on real events, with made-up characters and very real emotions. Here’s the first one:

In March 2020, Lucas was afraid.

The economy was grinding to a halt. Markets were in freefall. In a sweeping response, the Federal Reserve launched an unprecedented intervention—buying everything from Treasury bonds and mortgages to corporate debt, expanding the money supply by $4 trillion. At the same time, the U.S. government issued over $800 billion in stimulus checks to households across the country.

These extraordinary measures may have averted a wave of business failures and bank runs—but they came at a cost: currency debasement and rising inflation. Alarmed by the scale of central bank intervention and its consequences for savers, Lucas decided to act.

In a state of mild panic, he withdrew $15,000 from his bank account and bought ten gold coins. Then he took another $10,000 and bought two bitcoins. If the dollar system failed, Lucas wanted something with intrinsic value he could use.

He mentioned his plan to his friend Daniel, who laughed.

“Why don’t you stock up on guns and cigarettes while you’re at it?” Daniel quipped. “The Fed is doing what it has to—stabilizing the economy in a crisis. Sure, $4 trillion is a lot of money, but it's backed by the most productive economy on Earth. Don’t panic. The world’s not ending.”

To prove his point, Daniel put $25,000 into the S&P 500—right at the pandemic bottom.

And he was right. Literally.

By Spring 2025, the stock market was near all-time highs. The world hadn’t ended. The U.S. economy kept moving, more or less as usual. Daniel’s investment had nearly tripled—his $25,000 had grown to $65,000.

But oddly enough, Lucas’ seemingly panicked reaction had been both prudent and profitable.

His gold coins had climbed from $1,500 to $3,300 apiece—a 120% gain. Bitcoin had soared from $5,000 to $90,000, making his two coins worth $180,000. Altogether, Lucas’s $25,000 allocation had grown to $213,000—a nearly 10x return. And his goal wasn’t even profit. It was safety.

With that kind of fortune, you’d expect Lucas to feel confident, even serene. He had more than enough to preserve his purchasing power, even in the face of years of inflation.

But in the spring of 2025, Lucas felt anything but calm.

He was uneasy—gripped by a sense that the 2020 crisis hadn’t been a conclusion, but a prelude.

In his mind, 2020 was just the latest chapter in a troubling sequence: the Asian financial crisis in 1998, the global financial crisis in 2008, the pandemic shock of 2020. Each crisis had been more sudden, more sweeping, and more dependent on emergency measures than the last.

And Lucas couldn’t shake the feeling that the next act—whenever it came—would be more disruptive, more severe, and far more damaging.