"I really, definitely, truly care! Call off your procurement force, Laara. That's an order. Go out and get us some money."
"Where?"
"Why, from Baldid, of course."
"But Baldid doesn't have any money."
"No? No money?" Heck said in alarm.
"But I can get some. I can rob a bank via teleportation. Shall I go now?"
"No." Heck cried. "Don't do that. I didn't mean like that. Dismiss the staff. Forget the whole thing. I'll get a job. Maybe Jason Spooner will hire me. But I won't be a party to any wholesale burglaries."
"Very well," the blonde Laara said. "If that's what you want. But first I'd like to point out we have a staff of over five hundred in this building. They've all been here an hour or so. They'll all demand at least a day's pay, if you let them go. Some of them will demand two weeks pay and the courts might decide they're entitled to it. Do you imagine—can you imagine—where that would put you? In debt for life, Hector Finch, unless you go through with our business arrangements."
"Crooks and all?" Heck said in despair.
"I'm handling this. Crooks and all, is that clear?" The blonde stared at him defiantly. Defiantly? he wondered. But defiantly meant she was trying to defy him. It wasn't that way at all. If there was any defying that had to be done, it would be on Heck's part. The blonde was in the driver's seat. Heck wondered: who really runs Hector Finch. We Sell Anything? It certainly wasn't Heck.