Three years ago. That’s when Mark Unger introduced himself to Zander Melton, believing him to be the right man to help him put his get-rich-quick scheme. If anyone had a reputation for being a strategic player, it was Zander Melton. As a financial advisor, Unger dealt with influential people. The majority of them were honest, straight-shooting rich people who were not prone to taking chances or willing to damage their powerful reputations. But Zander wasn’t one of them. He, like Unger, worked hard to build a solid name for himself but had a fraction of dishonesty inside him. Zander didn’t, wouldn’t take the risk unless the stakes weren’t too high. A misdemeanor could be worth dishonest behavior. A felony charge with actual don’t bend over for the soap prison? Nothing, in Zander’s mind, was worth that.

Until it was. 3 million? Now, that was worth something, maybe even bending over in prison.

“Unger, are you sure Patterson will buy into this idea? Three million dollars. That’s a lot.”

“Do you know how much money dairy farmers bring in annually, Zander?” Unger took a bite of his Northwest Cheeseburger, his burger of choice, talking through each bite. “It’s more than a few million dollars. Hell, I’ve seen the financial statements of these farmboys – it’s hundreds of millions, even if it’s a small commercial outfit!”

“You seriously think a farmer in the middle of Iowa.” Unger interrupted him.

“Not the middle,” Unger took another bite, “like somewhere over here. On the edge.”

“Whatever.” Zander stood up. “You seriously think a farmer is going to trust you and me? I’m not convinced.”

Finishing his burger, Unger snatched up his Coke and sucked hard on the straw. “He’s . . .” The ice-cold liquid burned his throat, causing him to choke temporarily. “Ahgh.” He swallowed a few times, his head aching from the cold Coke. Brain freeze didn’t just happen when eating ice cream. Sometimes, it happens when you drink your Coca-Cola too quickly. Unger knew this and continued doing it regardless of the consequences. “He’s going to trust you and me. Because I’m going to convince him. All you have to do is,” he grabbed a few of Zander’s unattended french fries, stuffing them in his mouth, “sell the farmer on the idea. It won’t take much. Smile a lot. Talk slow. And use big words to confuse him. Then, tell him what those words mean. Tell him the truth. Lie. I really don’t care. Just make him trust you. Then I can do the rest.” He took another sip of his Coke and a few more fries from Zander and smiled.