Criminal Cakes

Faustian pinched the bridge of his nose, hiding from the dozens of unopened emails in his inbox, and the messages they contained. Subpeonas from the Stewards, pressure from the Aballon government to consider "relocating", and a healthy share of death threats. He'd been sifting through them all morning, filing them away based on priority, and sending recieve receipts to the relevant government parties.
He'd barely scratched the surface.
The revival of Aballonian Mooncakes Inc. had been a disaster. But he'd done everything right... No dirty tricks, no shady deals. It was all above the board -- ethical, even -- and their customers loved it. For the first time in years, he'd allowed himself to look up, and wonder at the stars. But the star he wished upon had turned into a flaming meteor, and it had all come crashing down.
They couldn't incriminate him, of course. He was in the kitchens all day, and one of the chefs -- a nice fellow by the name of Serat -- had backed his alibi, and helped prove that Faustian couldn't have poisoned all the food from his position. He suspected the poor man had been fired for it, but he didn't seem to care overly much. A lot of people quit the Culinarium last week. Faustian wrote Serat's SID down on a post-it note, and attached it to the screen. Maybe he could get him a job at another kitchen. Or maybe his recommendation would only ruin the man further...
It was hard to tell these days.
He sighed, filtering through more correspondence. The Dream Team were now wanted for trial, classified as S-Class criminals until they could be taken into custody. Faustian suspected that "until" was more of an "if", and that Alexander Marcus might just convince the Council of the merits of taking them dead instead of alive. He tsked as he scanned the next email, which claimed that the group's assets were going to be frozen until further notice, which meant he would have to report all their profits on a weekly basis. Another headache...
His comm unit rang, but no SID was listed. He answered in his business voice.
Faustian: "You've reached Aballonian Mooncakes Incorporated, a family company. This is Faustian Tingle, HR representative and interim CEO. How can I help you?"
There was a throaty, seductive chuckle on the other end.
Valentina: "Help me? Oh darling... I was thinking I might help you."