At the governor's mansion, the top executive, Adlai Peterson, called a meeting of his staff. He was an older man, bald with a silver gray mustache and stern expression on his face. He wore a gray pinstripe suit, a white collared shirt and a red necktie.
He and his staff sat around a long table of polished walnut. The governor stood and banged his fist on the table.
"I want to know more about the figure the papers called Cerulean! He burst into my home weeks ago to save Eve Cordyn from electrocution and then disappeared. But he's been busy stopping crime in Central City and now there's a report of him in Carver City too."
The governor's staff squirmed in their seats.
"I want to know his name!" cried the older man. "And so does the President."
"Well," the lieutenant governor, a short man named William Vane, said speaking up, "he generally appears at night, although not always. When he diverted the water from the ruptured dam and saved the town of White Creek he was out in the middle of the day."
"That doesn't help matters, does it?" said the governor.
Vane turned beet red.
"Put the state police on this," commanded Peterson. "Find him. Or I'll hiring a new staff to assist me. Am I clear?"
No one said a word; they grimaced and nodded their heads.
Peterson stormed out of the meeting room.
Elsewhere at the Daily Record, George Taylor, editor, called Craig Crent into his office. Also in the office with the paper's editor was a tall man in a checkered suit. He had a thin nose and beady brown eyes.
"Crent," said Taylor, "this is Ned Whisman."
"Pleased to meet you," said the reporter as he shook hands.
"I'm Cerulean's personal manager," announced Whisman.
"What!" cried Crent. "That's absurd."
"Whisman shook his head. "Not all. I have a signed contract giving me commercial rights to his name."
"You mean," said Taylor, "he consented to have his name used on commercial products?"
"Exactly," said Whisman. "And that's why I'm here. I have a proposal. I can give you exclusive stories about his exploits. You can print them and sell lots of newspaper. That will help me get his name out in front of the public so I can sell more products."
"What do you think, Crent?" asked Taylor.
"How do we know Whisman can deliver on his promise?" asked Crent.
"If you doubt me," said Whisman. "Turn on your radio."
Taylor obliged. A voice on the device said, "Good afternoon, boys and girl. It's time for your favorite breakfast cereal, Toasted Oaties, to bring the first in a new series of adventure programs featuring Cerulean, that mysterious hero who fights crime."
"Good God, man," cried Taylor. "What an idea."
"That's nothing," said Whisman. "Look out the window."
Taylor and Crent stared as a dirigible flew by pulling a banner that read 'Use Cerulean gasoline for supercharge your car's engine'.
"Amazing," said Taylor.
"That's nothing," said Whisman. "See that billboard across the street."
The editor did. It read 'The Cerulean Streamline Special' and under that was a picture of a car and Cerulean racing beside it.
"I've also licensed movie rights," said Whisman, "and exercise gear."
"How did Cerulean contact you?" asked Taylor.
"He came in through the window and proposed a deal. So we talked it over and formed a partnership."
"Very interesting," said Crent. "If true."
"You doubt me?" cried Whisman. "How about an interview with him?"
"Sure," said Crent.
"Then come by my office tonight."
"Wiil do."
And with that Whisman stormed out of the office.