The Case of the Risky Business Owner

A woman was staring greedily at my Kamchatka, which was shamefully exposed.

For those of you unfamiliar with Risk, the classic board game of world domination, Kamchatka is a territory in Asia—a continent I have fought bitterly to keep intact for the better part of seven hours against a blood-thirsty Bulgarian named Polia.

This particular skirmish was part of my Risk club that met once a year. We began each game as old friends, happy to reunite over the battlefield, only to spend then next two days belittling, beleaguering and backstabbing each other until tears were shed, insults thrown and one of us walked away the supreme ruler of the world.

Right now, I was in more trouble than a recovering alcoholic at an Irish wake. Polia was racing through countries faster than the swine flu. Her path of destruction ripped its way up through Central and North America, stopping at Alaska, where her armies were so close to mine in Kamchatka that I wondered if you really could see Russia from Wasilla.

But there was a flaw in her battle plan—she played it too risky, leaving too few armies behind to defend her territories.

“Like corduroy pillows, my victory over you will make headlines,” she said with an evil smirk.

“Won’t happen, Polia,” I exclaimed, a little louder than intended. Risk got my blood pumping, just like insurance and good sarsaparilla. “Your plan is too risky!”

“Ace, that’s the name of the game. Taking risks separates the winners from the losers,” she said.

“Or the bathed from the unbathed,” I said, fanning the air before my nose. “You smell as if you just milked a goat.”

“Hey! I came straight from work. It’s not easy being a business owner in today’s economy! I spent all morning fighting with the accountant, but it paid off. I came up with a great money-saving plan that your insurance mind will probably think is too risky.”

“Try me,” I said, knowing the only things I think are too risky include sleeping while skydiving, badger juggling and slow dancing with Pamela Anderson.

“Alright, since I’m the owner of my travel agency, I’ve decided to exclude myself from workers’ compensation coverage. It’s brilliant—we don’t have to pay for me, and if I get injured on the job, my medical insurance will respond. Now, enough about insurance; it’s time to battle for Kamchatka. Like two snails, let’s slug it out!”

“You may want to rethink both your money saving plan and your plan of attack.”

Why did Ace want her to retreat?

For help solving this mystery and to check your solution against Ace’s, click here.

Jonathan Hermann (hermannism@gmail.com) is an IA contributing editor.