Blake met Sam outside the clubhouse, his brows going up at the unusual sight of Sam in a suit and tie. “Don’t screw this up, Fargo. You have no idea how hard it was to convince these guys that, A, you’re not going to flake out on them again, and B, your idea is worth their time and money.”
“It’d be nice to think I wasn’t wasting my time, either.”
“Just go in there and sell it.”
The two men walked in together, Blake moving to a chair in the corner, Sam to the center of the room. Three men in their fifties, all dressed for golf, sat on one side of a long table, watching Sam as he approached. He placed his phone and the portfolios on the table, shook hands with each of them, pulled out the chair, and sat.
The man sitting on the right said, “I understand you’re working on some sort of a laser . . .”
“Argon laser.” He picked up the folders, about to pass them out, saying, “I’ve put together some information—”
“Save it,” the man said. “Just tell us.”
“It detects mixed metals and alloys from a distance.”
“A metal detector?”
“Not exactly.”
“Explain.”
“Typically, the properties and ratios of argon are used to determine the age of rocks. By adjusting the laser that detects argon in the earth’s surface, I’ve discovered that age is only one quality it can detect. The other is the type of metal. For instance, the elements—”
The man in the middle raised his brows. “Type of metal? As i
n gold?”
“As in any metal. Gold, silver, platinum, palladium.”
All three leaned forward with interest. “Go on . . .” the first man said.
“As mentioned, the gist is that it works from a distance. Whether you’re searching underwater or on land—” His phone screen lit up with a text from Rube: Just received word. Kyril to plead guilty. Will let you know.
“Mr. Fargo?”
“Sorry,” he said. “Where was I?”
“Detecting metal beneath the ocean’s surface. Definitely something I could invest in.”
“Right. The ocean . . .” For some reason, after seeing Rube’s text about Kyril, all he could think about was the conversations he’d had with Remi. She thought he should be building the laser on his own, not teaming up with a bunch of investors.
Which made him wonder why on earth he was rushing into this.
He glanced at Blake, then the three men sitting at the table, and finally at his phone. There was absolutely no hurry. “I’m sorry. I . . . have to apologize for wasting your time.”
They looked at one another, then at him. “Excuse me?” one of them said.
Sam slipped his phone into his pocket and picked up the portfolios. “This was a mistake.”
Blake shot up out of his chair. “Sam—”
“Sorry, Blake. I appreciate all of this. I really do. It’s just . . .” What was he supposed to say? That a woman who had broken up with him felt it was a bad idea for him to put this out to investors? “I’ve rethought the whole thing.”
“Mr. Fargo,” the first man said. “If you walk out that door now, you’re done.” His expression, like that of the other two men, barely concealed his annoyance.
Not that Sam could blame any of them. “I realize that. And I thank you for agreeing once again to see me, but . . . Enjoy the rest of your day.”
Blake followed Sam out the door into the hallway. “What the—? Do you have any idea how long it took me just to get those three in the same room as you? I promised them you weren’t going to flake out.”