Renaldo stood in front of a large wooden teacher's desk, where his briefcase lay open. He had 6 guests squeezed into the children's seats, 4 of them under Bob's employ, one of them Bob, and the sixth a representative of Rota Fracta, who introduced himself as Cesare Nessuno. Bob introduced himself as Michael Manacle.
"I do apologize," said Renaldo in Italian, "for not bringing the original document, but that would have been too difficult to arrange. But the document will of course be available for careful inspection before any transaction is made. I am now handing out photocopies for your perusal. Notice how remarkably complete the pages are. I would say 85% of the document has been salvaged. An impressive find."
Cesare lost himself in the photocopies. "This is poetry. Pure poetry."
Bob hid his sense of satisfaction. This man had immediately dispensed with the maddening understatement that always seemed to accompany Renaldo's negotiations. He was confident, clearly an executive of some sort.
"Imagine," Cesare continued, "seeing her handwriting, after all these years."
"You sound as though you know her," Bob said cheerily.
"There's nothing like a diary to get to know someone," he replied. "Is she not familiar to you?"
"I'm afraid I barely know enough Coptic for comprehension," Bob always downplayed how much he knew, how much he could do, how dangerous he was. The strategy had taken him a long way.
"All the information we have on this document has been included with the photocopies," said Renaldo to the room. "Do I have any bids?"
A spirited bidding war began, driving the price to the equivalent of about a million dollars. An outrageous amount, thought Bob, smiling, but still a fraction of what Cesare was willing and able to pay.
Object: article