Trent looked across the table at Gurzi who was still displaying an obsequious smile. Trent was tentative, but he had to know, “Then you have run your tests?” he asked
Gurzi nodded.
Trent hesitated before asking the obvious… “And?”
“My client is satisfied with the preliminary results. They have an interest.”
It was impossible for Trent to disguise his hard swallow, and he was certain Gurzi noticed. He was gathering the courage to ask a question he had rehearsed non-stop for two days. His voice cracked. “Then, am I to presume that your clients are ready to negotiate a price?”
Gurzi slowly leaned back in his chair, offering no response. Trent watched him closely. The man looked like a cat playing with its prey, toying with it before the kill. Trent thought it ironic he would risk his entire future on a man he met only months earlier while standing in line for a hot dog at the convention, but it wasn’t as if he hadn’t heard the Gurzi name before. Gurzi had a reputation for knowing all the key movers and shakers in the drug industry so he took a chance and shared his idea about developing a vaccine preservative over a second hot dog. Gurzi quickly turned into more than just a casual listener. Now, the man on the other side of the table held the only key that could open the door to his future.
Several very long seconds passed before Trent gathered his courage to ask the most difficult question of his life. “What’s the offer?” he asked tentatively.
Gurzi pounced, emphatically slamming his fist on the table. “One hundred thousand dollars!” he announced.
Doing a poor job of disguising his surprise, Trent leaned back in his chair. He wanted to yell hallelujah but restrained himself. As a chemist, it was more money than he could earn in the next twenty years but the amount on the table was far less than what he could get if he proved his formula viable and opened it up to bid on the open market. The thought was nothing more than useless speculation. Time was not on his side. Medical school started in less than ninety days, and he had drained all his cash reserves to pay his first years tuition. He was hurting, and Gurzi knew it.
Gurzi pushed, “I assume you agree with the price?”
Still flushed, Trent could only nod his approval.
Gurzi took out a pen and scribbled a phone number on the back of his business card and pushed it across the table. “To complete the process, you will call this number tomorrow morning and tell the receptionist your name. She will transfer you to a man who will identify himself only as Mr. Cartwright. He will present the terms of the contract and arrange for you to sign the patent transfer application. I suggest you follow his instructions. There will be no changes to these terms.”
Trent picked up the card and tucked it into his shirt pocket. Gurzi’s stoic face slowly turned to a smile. He opened the briefcase and pulled out a large white envelope nearly an inch thick and pushed in across the table. “Here’s the first installment.”
“Installment?”
“Yes, the first fifty thousand dollars, all in cash. You will receive the balance after my client has successfully transferred the patent transfer to his name.”
Trent started to reach for the envelope but thought better of it. “I don’t understand. I haven’t even signed the transfer yet.”
Gurzi’s voice slowed, hardened. “My clients are aware of the risk. They consider it minimal but, if you choose to take this offering this evening, let me give you some advice.”
Trent didn’t respond. He had no idea what else to do. Gurzi’s brief smile dissolved, displaced by a very intimidating glare. “Dr. Trent, my clients are reputable businessmen. For obvious reasons they wish to remain anonymous. If you take this money and haven’t signed the patent transfer within three days, I can assure you that my client’s demeanor will change considerably and that they will hold me personally responsible for their displeasure. If that happens, there will be serious repercussions. I suggest you sign the transfer. Once the patent transfer application is approved by the US Patent Office and delivered to my client, the second installment will be sent to you by my courier within forty-eight hours. Do I make myself clear Dr. Trent?’
Unable or afraid to respond, he was not sure which, Trent simply nodded his head in agreement.
Gurzi stood up immediately, pointing to the envelope. “I suggest you put that in a very safe place. You know how to reach me,” he offered, shaking Trent’s hand. Without another word, Gurzi closed his briefcase, turned, and walked away. Trent remained behind feeling as if he were frozen to his chair. His mind was still a whirlwind. He knew going in that he would be playing this game on other people’s terms, and it would be their way or not at all. Now, his bed was made. He had to sleep in it. With $50,000 cash under the mattress, he was certain his bed would feel a bit more comfortable.
Trent picked up the envelope, walked outside, and took in a huge breath of fresh air. He decided to walk a few blocks before catching a taxi home. As he walked to clear his mind, he marveled at the irony of Prohibition. He had no qualms with the legitimacy of Gurzi’s father’s business, but he held no illusions about how an immigrant from Italy with no visible means of income managed to finance the purchase. Seven years earlier, only after substantial pressure from the temperance movement, Congress had passed the Volstead Act prohibiting the sale of alcoholic beverages, but the government had done little to enforce the law. At last count, it was estimated there were over fifty thousand speakeasy clubs in New York City alone. Other major cities across the country weren’t far behind, and it was no secret that bootleg liquor was openly supplied to the speakeasies by organized crime, and they made it a habit to put their profits to work by investing in legitimate businesses. Rumor had it that Gurzi’s father, a man of little education and simple means with no apparent income, apparently convinced some anonymous benefactor’s to help him pay cash for his pharmaceutical supply company. It gave Trent pause for concern but not so much to change his mind about selling his formula. As long as someone paid his price, he didn’t have the time to worry about what Gurzi euphemistically referred to as his benefactors.
An hour later, Trent finally felt a welcomed sense of relief as his taxi pulled away from the hotel. While the Volstead Act had been successful in reducing the amount of liquor consumed nationally, there was a downside to the legislation. A byproduct of the law seemed to be destroying society by other means. As much as he hated to be a participant, Trent knew today was a perfect example of just one of the many problems the nation faced with the repercussions of Prohibition. People were taking advantage of opportunities, legal or otherwise, and he was no exception. In two weeks, he would move to Chicago.
Chapter 8
July 2, 1927
Chicago, Illinois
The end of the first week of his new life in Chicago, Trent found himself sitting quietly on an old tattered chair he inherited from his father, his arms resting on a card table that doubled as both a dining and study area. By default, the only chair he owned was the focal point of his one-window studio apartment. Perched on the second floor of a very weathered brick four-story walk-up, he was within easy walking distance to the University of Chicago.
Trent’s eyes strayed down, refocusing on a newspaper resting on his card table. Badly wrinkled, the paper was Australian, given to him the day before by a fellow first-year medical student he met during orientation earlier in the week. Even though it was over three weeks old, his new friend was excited to share the news from home. The front page had photos of the landing of a Fokker F.VIIB that had completed the last leg of a seven thousand mile journey that started in San Francisco and ended in Melbourne ten days later. Even now, Trent had no idea what a Fokker was, and he didn’t care. It was the article on the back page that still intrigued him.
Trent had read the article several times over and was about to do it again when a knock on his door interrupted. He expected the interruption. It was Will Williams, his new Australian friend. Trent yelled out. “It’s open!”
At