"Not wrong—"
"Solutions that aren't the best—that means wrong, huh?"
"Why, yes, I mean, I suppose that—" He stopped.
I smiled. I dropped my Jed Borch personality (which the little salesman probably much preferred). "You know who you've been talking to?"
"F.T.C.?"
"An F.T.C. Investigator," I said, professionally. Without waiting for him to ask, I showed him my card, with the impressive embossed words across the center: "Fair Trade Corps." Then I pressed a button and instantly two cops were in the door and at the salesman's shoulders.
The salesman said, "What's the charge?"
"You know what it is."
"The charge, please."