Page 4 - Like No Business I Know
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Rejuvenol
“In just a matter of minutes. A special courier is bringing the
documents here. The contract was signed this morning at ten
o’clock. We put five million dollars into Frintzwilder’s Swiss bank
account upon receiving title to his product and his process; his
warehouse was rented, and his employees will go back to the
street-corners they came from.”
“And the formula?”
“That’s what’s coming. He left it in escrow until the money and
ownership changed hands. As I said, he had his mind fixed on
keeping his process away from our prying eyes until he had his
little fortune safely squirreled away. Sell out in haste, repent in
leisure. Not a bad sort of leisure, actually, somewhere the dollar is
still worth more than—”
A chime discreetly sounded somewhere within the bric-a-brac
on her desk.
“A messenger from the bank has an envelope for you, Madame
Fishel,” came a voice of great culture and refinement. “Shall I sign
for it?”
She pressed a button cunningly wrought into the ormolu of a
porcelain cherub’s navel. “Yes, Frankie. And bring it right in, will
you, dear.”
Myron Probst sat quietly while the dapper amanuensis advanced
with the prize and retreated with a reward: “Thank you, dear,”
cooed the Great Woman.
She slit the manila envelope’s flap neatly with a platinum dirk,
and deftly extracted the contents. “Myron, please have a look at
this. You’ll be working with it, and I might not be up on the latest
technical jargon, you know.”
He took the papers, thinking her eyesight the primary dissuasive
factor. The first page was a letter, signed by Frintzwilder. Behind it
were several sheets of technical data. Probst put the letter down
and quickly scanned the formulae. Gilda Fishel watched as his face
slowly tightened into a mask of fear and repulsion.
“What is it?” she demanded. “Can’t you understand it?”
Probst looked up, blinking. “I—I don’t know how to tell you
this, ma’am.”
“Tell me what? Out with it, man!” The blood suffusing her
cheeks threatened to exceed their rouge in ruddiness.
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