On the cover of the magazine at Klay’s feet was a photograph of a red bird of paradise perched on a tree branch taken in West Papua, Indonesia. To get that photo, Snaps had hired a fixer-translator, a 4x4 and driver, a boat and pilot, forest guides, porters, a cook, and a float plane and pilot. He’d paid consulting fees to ornithologists in Indonesia, England, and the United States. He’d set up camera traps. He’d lived most of the year suspended 180 feet off the ground in a hammock blind specially built for his project holding a camera custom-designed by engineers in The Sovereign’s basement, waiting for the elusive bird to dangle its two tail wires just so. Three times during the year, he’d interrupted his work and flown back to DC to meet with a particular photo editor who insisted on reviewing his progress in person. All to get one exceptional photograph.

Start with the cost of publishing a hardcopy magazine in a digital age; throw in common excesses (print editors who characterized family vacations as fieldwork, staff scientists who approved research grants to themselves); toss in the odd whims of the Prendergast family (“Find me a giant squid!” “Locate Endurance!”); add to these the cost of such legitimate explorations as sending a custom-built titanium submersible to navigate Challenger Deep, the earth’s deepest point; and you had a recipe for epic bankruptcy.

Eady smiled patiently. “You’re not understanding me, Tom. It’s not about me. They’re selling The Sovereign.”

“The magazine?”

“All of it.”

“Fuck me,” he said softly. “Why?”

Eady laughed. “Why does anyone sell? You’ll continue to have a job, of course. They recognize quality. Unless you take a buyout. They’ll be extending those offers soon, letting others go . . .”

“Who’s the buyer?”

“The acquisition includes a billion-dollar endowment. That’s the important thing. With that kind of funding we secure The Sovereign for generations. We’ve ensured this institution’s mission, Tom.”

“There’s always a who, Vance.”

Eady sighed. “The acquirer is Perseus Group Media.”

“Perseus Group?”

“—Media.”

“Terry Krieger,” Klay said.

“I wanted you to hear about it from me, directly.”

“Jesus,” Klay said quietly.

“They had a piece of us already. It’s nothing we made public, but PGM has had a twenty percent stake in The Sovereign for some time. It was the only way to catch up to Discovery.”

“There must have been other buyers.”

Eady swallowed his drink. “They tried. I tried. Google. Bezos. Disney. We screwed ourselves taking that early money. He wouldn’t relinquish his shares, and nobody who could afford us wants Terry Krieger for a partner. We had no choice.”

“How much is he paying you?”