"Business. Lots of business."
The background sound of the car changes, then, from the smooth glide of a highway to the rough drone of a gravel road: they're going out of the way, by the sound of it. Thanks to the miracle of modern telecommunication, however, the signal doesn't so much as dim.
"See, your mother and I, we always worked on a very simple principle: that basically, what we do is, ya know, the Equestrian dream. We go to work, we make lots of money cuz we're good at what we do, so on and so forth. And it always seemed really unfair to me that we got chased by the cops for it--cuz ya know, what we do is a lot like bankers, and salesmen, and shit. The only difference is we tell people we're gonna fuck em before we do it."
The engine roars a little, now. It seems like they're going up a hill--or else just picking up speed for who-knows-what. It seems to be the latter, given that all of a sudden your phone call is drowned out, completely and utterly, by a muffled cacaphony--the sound of shattering glass and splintering wood, interspersed with screaming steel and tumbling rocks! It's a sound you are familiar with by this point--the sound of something very large going through a wall at a very high velocity. This is followed, in turn, by more familiar sounds: gunshots, from high-end automatics and thunderous hoof-cannons, interspersed with the odd cry of "COME GET SOME, YA SONS OF BITCHES!"
But then, a mere twelve seconds later, the noise is over and the conversation resumes.
"Then they had Royal Blue and the ESID crackdown and Lonestar beefing up and that whole thing, so we really got pushed to the sidelines. But I'm sick of that. I'm up here now, seeing if I can get the LC to expand into Canterlot a little more--dunno if it was on the news, but I managed to get a few Lonestars with a bone to pick on my side, scored us a few supply choppers and materials for an HQ and such.