Chapter 6
June 11th, 1927
Minneapolis, Minnesota
A majestic convoy of warships escorted the USS Memphis along with its celebrated passenger on a ride up the Chesapeake and Potomac Rivers to Washington where President Coolidge was waiting. Charles Lindbergh was triumphantly returning home to America. Newscasters reported that tears were running down Lindbergh’s cheeks.
As Lindbergh disembarked for his ride to the White House, eleven hundred miles to the west, it was already 7:40 A.M. in Minnesota. After catching bits and pieces of the radio broadcast of Lindbergh’s return celebration at a local diner, Jeremiah Trent headed to his office. Gusts of river-chilled wind from the east bank of the Mississippi river funneled up the stairs, slamming against Trent’s back as he scurried up the stairs to his office in the University of Minnesota’s Science Center. He was on a mission. For the moment, last night’s phone call from Richard Gurzi made everything else in his life insignificant.
Trent spent the entire day in his office preparing for any possible scenario Gurzi might throw at him. When he finally proclaimed himself ready, he leaned back in his chair and once again reviewed the precarious threshold he was about to cross and the opportunity it presented. His advancement in the field of chemistry had come quickly. Fellowship programs had financially helped him accelerate his studies, but grants came with invisible strings that he abhorred. Money from major drug companies came with an unspoken understanding there was an unspoken debt to be paid. Any scientific discoveries or breakthroughs that came on the drug company’s dollar, the sponsors expected to be given first right of refusal for any new commercial applications being released to competitors. It was simple. If the discovery or advancement had a monetary value, both the drug companies and the university would benefit monetarily. The scientists would get academic recognition for their resumes and, possibly, a salary increase, but little else.
Later, as the sun began to set, Trent was once again outside waving down another taxi for the twenty-minute ride from his office across the Mississippi to the St. Paul Hotel. While he was excited that Gurzi was interested in brokering his interest, he tempered his enthusiasm because he felt his development of a vaccine preservative was not particularly brilliant. He always believed that the simplest of inventions or accomplishments were usually born only because somebody thought of them first, not because what they invented or did was necessarily difficult or complicated. Somebody found a way to make a horse useful by inventing a bridle, followed by a harness for a plough, then a cart for the horse to pull. One just had to find a need or a goal and then create. If Lindbergh hadn’t flown across the Atlantic, someone else would have. He used the same analogy about his formula. If he hadn’t created a bacteria-free vaccine storage solution, one surely would have followed eventually. First was always rewarded or recognized. Second place was not. It was that simple.
For the first time in his life, Trent knew he had gotten there first. It was his formula, developed on his own time, and all related expenses personally paid. Medical school started in August. For now, it was Gurzi who held the key to his future. It was time to make the deal.
Chapter 7
June 11th, 1927
St. Paul, Minnesota
Jeremiah Trent stood outside, staring at the two huge brass entry doors that led to the St. Paul Hotel’s lobby. Instinct told him to abandon his plan, turn and run, but just walking had suddenly become a major challenge. The most important meeting of his life was just fifty yards away and he was afraid to go inside. He could still hear Richard Gurzi’s early morning telephone conversation… Come alone! Gurzi emphasized the word alone so ominously it caught him off guard. His words were cold, harsh, and remained imbedded in his mind eight hours later.
Shaking some life back into his legs, Trent tipped the door attendant and walked inside. His heartbeat kept pace with his racing mind as he took a booth in the dining room and waited. Even though Gurzi had always been affable and accommodating, Trent thought him an enigma. He could switch personalities as he saw the need, going from friendly to evasive, genuine to condescending. For Trent, it was clear that Gurzi was not a man one should cross. Whether or not he should be trusted wasn’t a sure thing either. For the moment, he could only accept the man for what he was. Where their relationship led was up to Gurzi. He had no other choice. The only certainty was that he had to be careful.
After being seated in the dining room, Trent looked around. Tuxedoed waiters and white tablecloths were not a common occurrence in his life, and the formality wasn’t helping his already fragile demeanor. He sat alone. Too nervous to think, each minute that passed seemed an hour. Then, a familiar voice came from behind. “Dr. Trent, it’s good to see you again.”
Trent stood, offering Gurzi his outstretched hand. Slightly built, Gurzi was from a world Trent did not recognize. Trent guessed he and Gurzi were about the same age, but the similarities ended there. Of Italian descent, the man was blessed with a pleasant accent complimented by a distinctively deep voice. He wore clothes with brand names usually only seen in magazines, and he guessed Gurzi’s imported loafers cost more than he made in a month at the university.
Avoiding any further pleasantries, Gurzi carefully placed a small leather briefcase on the table and sat down. He wasted no time and was blunt. “Are you prepared to do business?”
Caught off guard, Trent wasn’t exactly sure how to respond. He didn’t want to appear anxious, but he was certain Gurzi was well aware that he was desperate for money. The good news was that the only possible reason Gurzi had for requesting a meeting had to be that the sample preservative he delivered to him a week earlier had tested viable. Any chemist worth his salt could have used his sample to recreate a reasonable facsimile of the formula. It wouldn’t be exact, but it would be close enough to confirm the formula valid, and that it would perform as he claimed. Whether or not Gurzi knew he had already submitted a patent application was another matter. He wanted to be sure everyone understood his rules. He cautiously danced around Gurzi’s doing business question. “Before we go on, I think you should know that I have already taken measures to protect my formula.”
Expressionless, Gurzi offered no response, not even a blink. Trent was a giant of a man, physically far more intimidating than the man on the other side of the table, but Gurzi’s cool silence erased any thought that his own superior physique could give him any form of advantage. As a precautionary measure, he filed a patent application a few days earlier to legally prevent any pirating of his formula. Now, any similar formula submitted would be automatically rejected providing his original patent was approved. He didn’t want to offend Gurzi by explaining the process, but he had to know. “Mr. Gurzi, do you understand what I just told you?”
Gurzi nodded, still stone-faced. Trent waited. He had no idea where to take the conversation. A moment later, Gurzi smiled for the first time since he arrived. “Dr. Trent, let’s dispense with the gamesmanship. Of course we know you filed your application. We expected as much. In fact, my client was pleased that you have already initiated the patent process. It will save them valuable time.”
Trent knew Gurzi’s use of the word client was a euphemism for a drug company, but there was more to it than that. After their initial meeting a week earlier, he decided to do a little homework of his own. In addition to representing several drug companies as a sales representative, Gurzi also