LaCost. Patrick Rizio

Alison said softly, as she continued to look into Jason’s eyes, ignoring the waitress. “I’m fine. I’ve got everything I need right now.”

      *******

      She was dressed in a black conservative business skirt, with matching blazer, white buttoned up blouse, and black two-inch heeled shoes. Her posture was perfect. She carried her briefcase in her left hand, and her right one only moved slightly when she walked. Her hair was cut short, to need little maintenance. She disliked her job, it was below her, but to admit so wouldn’t be professional. She was here to talk to Sarah. She was here to talk to the teacher in charge when the incident happened. She had already talked to the doctor.

      The Department of Human Services needed to know why a seven-year old child under their charge had required hospitalization. Such things made for negative publicity, the last thing a cash strapped agency needed right now. A report would be turned in, and it would be meticulous. Her superiors would find no mistakes. If needed, blame would be assigned to those who were responsible.

      “As I’ve already told you, she was being tested for pattern recognition and math skills,” Alison explained. “She has exhibited higher than normal aptitude in these areas. “We were just getting started when she fainted. The paramedics were called immediately.”

      “And, how long before they arrived?”

      “About ten minutes.”

      “And they were unable to revive the child, is that correct?”

      “Yes, that’s correct.”

      The room seemed unusually quiet for the next thirty seconds. Alison remained seated with her hands folded in her lap.

      “Miss Russo,” the woman asked as she shifted through her papers, “you teach art is that correct?”

      “Yes, that’s right.”

      “How long have you been with the orphanage?”

      “I started last summer. After volunteering with the kids during summer quarter, I decided to come back, just part time. I teach two classes per week. It’s really the only art program the school has.”

      “Yes, very commendable I’m sure. How is it then you would be testing math? Wouldn’t that be left up to a mathematics teacher?”

      “Teachers proctor students in all areas of study Miss Rankin, not in just the subjects they teach.”

      “What about the other children, did any of them have any physical problems during the testing?”

      “There were no other children being tested.”

      “Is that the usual procedure?”

      “No, it’s not. But Sarah is a most extraordinary child, which is why I recommended the testing in the first place.”

      “Oh, so you recommended the testing,” the woman said, jotting down notes on her clipboard.

      “Yes, I did, but of course you already knew that.”

      The woman in black had no reaction. She just kept on writing. After a minute Alison spoke up,

      “Look Miss Rankin, I know you have a job to do, and I can appreciate that you do it very efficiently. I’m not quite sure what it is you’re looking for, but I assure you that everything was handled in a most professional way.”

      “I can see that it was, Miss Russo, and my report will state so. It will also include the full doctor’s report.”

      “The doctor said Sarah was fine.”

      “What the doctor said, was that he was unable to find anything wrong with her. The fact that the child just passed out doesn’t bode well for her.”

      “What do you mean?” Alison asked.

      “The girl not only has no parents, Miss Russo. She has no next of kin. She is a permanent ward of Family Court, under the jurisdiction of the Department of Family Services. As such, she is attended to with the goal being adoption. Being seven years old means her desirability has already narrowed. People want babies. Having an undiagnosed health problem on her record will not help.”

      Alison was careful to hide her happiness at hearing this.

      “Oh yes, I see what you mean,” she said looking down. A few moments passed. “If there isn’t anything else, I do have a class to teach?”

      “Nothing else. I have all I need here. Thank you for your time.”

      The woman in black made no effort to stand or shake hands. She just kept on writing. Alison felt as though she had just been dismissed.

      She also felt terrific. It seemed everything was going her way lately.

      10

      “First of all, it is crucial that this conversation not leave this room. There are only two people who know the full scope of this thing, and for the foreseeable future it must stay that way.”

      Jason really wanted to get back to the lab, besides, hadn’t they already gone through this?

      “I already understand that. It is not a problem.”

      “I know you do Jason. It’s just that, at this stage of the game, the importance of keeping this under wraps cannot be overemphasized.”

      Schimmel returned to his desk, sat in his chair and leaned forward. He had a little more to enlighten his company genius about.

      “A while back the Santino company patented a genetically modified strain of soybeans that were resistant to a pesticide they manufactured. That particular strain of soybeans is now legally owned by them. That doesn’t seem like a big deal, except for one thing. That particular strain now composes eighty percent of the soybeans in the entire country. They are brutally pushing out anyone who doesn’t grow their strain of soybeans, and, of course, helping those who do. They’re out to monopolize the markets and are using deplorable tactics to accomplish their goal. Things like tying up farmers in court who don’t use their products with frivolous lawsuits, and, well, the list goes on and on. They are the definitive bad guys of our industry.”

      The big man sipped his black coffee and explained further.

      “Once I sell you an apple tree that will grow in the desert, you would think that you have that forever. Harvest the seeds from the first crop, and you’ve eliminated the need to buy from me in the future. If, however, I have that particular strain of genetically modified apples patented, every time you plant, you pay.”

      Jason looked down for a moment. “My god, we’re talking about becoming the food police,” he said quietly.

      Schimmel smiled. His company genius was a quick study.

      “That is exactly what we are talking about, but as we both know, it goes beyond that. Knowingly turning the importing and exporting of foodstuffs on its head is, well, we’ve already been through that.”

      The big man walked over to the recessed bar on the south wall of his office and set down his coffee cup. He was smiling again. Some people shrink from captaining a ship, others thrive on it. Bob Schimmel was so far into his comfort zone right now, it was almost knocking Jason out of his chair. He smiled back.

      “Please boss, continue.”

      “Our objective, then, becomes a bit more complicated. Having something that will benefit all mankind should not be hidden. We will not, however, become the food police. What we are going to do is target specific markets, at specific intervals, and we will not stop farmers from harvesting and reusing our seeds. The only restriction we will impose, will be to prevent our customers from selling our seeds to someone else. However, in the beginning, we will assume a more conventional approach. Focusing on things like, increased yields per acre, and disease