Conversation · Mega Rich Light-Bending Guy

"Welcome back, friend. What can I do for you?" Although you cannot see his face, you can tell he's smiling warmly.

"There's something strange about you."

"What do you mean?" His... essence seems to signify actual surprise.

"Well, I don't know how to put it... you look... somehow... a little different."

"Are you talking about my chin?"

"Yeah, it's the chin."

The lieutenant leans in and whispers to you: "Please, behave yourself."

"Hm. I've never heard anybody say anything about my chin. Yet I know that people often tell each other half-truths, things they think the other party would wish to hear..."

"Being rich does not make one impervious to the human condition. Maybe I do have a strange chin and you are the first person to call me out on this. Not that you should. But you did. For this -- I am grateful."

"No-no, I mean, I can't even see... you, it's as if something is happening to the light."

"Oh, that's what you mean. Yes, I've heard of this effect, though I've never witnessed it myself, of course. It has something to do with our Weiss-Wiesemann coefficient."

The Weiss-Wiesemann coefficient is a ratio designed to reflect the difference in net worth between individuals. When the coefficient is close to 1 (or 100%) it means one person possesses all the net worth among that group of individuals. It's been observed that when the Weiss-Wiesemann coefficient reaches about .96 or so, the laws of physics begin to bend around the high-net-worth individual.

So what is our coefficient?

The Weiss-Wiesemann coefficient for you and this individual appears to be...

.9998 repeating.

That's not good -- for you.

"Are you telling me that you are so rich that light literally bends around your face?"

"Among other things... but calm down, I'm but a lowly single-digit billionaire."

"Really?"

"No, not really. There are actually quite many digits."

A man this chill is at least a triple-digit billionaire.

"Kim, are you seeing this weird stuff?"

"I see nothing of the sort. To be frank, all I see is a gentleman who's unusually well dressed for Martinaise. In a cargo container. Which, I admit, is odd."

"Yes. I imagine that does look strange to you. My container."

"I'm calm."

"That's good."

"Our what?"

"It's some statistical thing. In essence, it says that when an extremely low-net-worth individual meets an extremely high-net-worth individual, some of the laws of physics cease to apply."

"It's actually nothing. Forget I said anything."

"Go right ahead, don't be shy."

"It's as if something is happening to the light."

"It's really nothing."

The lieutenant seems very relieved.

"Oh, alright then. Another question."

"I should get back to my investigation. Thanks for your time." [Leave.]

"The pleasure was mine. Unfortunately, I must be away soon. The next time we meet, I'll be expecting an update on my investment!"

"Farewell, friend, and may your peace of mind guide you to happiness."

"It was a real pleasure. Sadly, though, my current lifestyle prevents me from remaining more than a brief time in any one place. Perhaps we'll meet again, somewhere far away..."

"Thanks for stopping by. If you ever have an idea you want to pitch me, I'm all ears."

"Why go so soon? I feel we've so much more to talk about. Ah, well. Until next time!"

"Have you considered breaking into the local art market?"

"There it is. I knew it as soon as you did the Milton 32-8 knock. A fellow entrepreneur!"

"Well, you've already convinced me to invest in you, so please, go on -- tell me about this opportunity. I'm keen."

"Wait, the Milton 32-8 knock?"

"Yes, the special knock that helps us ultras identify each other. I almost forgot it myself."

The Milton 32-8 knock was created through data sonification. It's based on the time series data of the world's most profitable bank during its prosperous years in the Thirties. The peak points were turned into the rhythm that makes up the knock.

It's a secret handshake of the ultra rich, distributed though private-access yacht clubs and interisolary balls for the heirs and heiresses of the old money. Where you picked it up is a mystery.

"But I'm getting side-tracked. Tell me about your business proposal. I am all ears." His face seems to distort in the blinding light, pulling and twisting at his sides.

"I've recently discovered a local painter with enormous potential." (Show him Cindy's chef d'oeuvre.)

"A painter, eh? I am always looking to expand into new asset classes. Who's the artist?"

"Grotbags. Actually, make that Granny Grotbags."

"A-ha. And the name of the piece?" He leans in to take a good look at the rectangular plastic board coated thick with emulsion.

"The Arduous Slaughter of the Eighth Pinniped."

There's no sign of a reaction for a good three seconds. Then...

"Wonderful things aren't they -- names? They can completely change your reading of a person. Or, in this case, a painting."

Say nothing.

"Before I invest, I need to know more about the work. How do I know this asset is going to appreciate with time?"

This is the only question that matters. Fail to come up with an interesting hook and he's out.

Remember, you're not just selling a painting, you're selling a story. Give the man a reason to throw down that paper.

Lying will get you nowhere. You can't outrun the truth -- it will catch up to you one day.