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What a bargain,” Claude hissed. “Well, we’re just not going to let that happen. We’re going to make the best damn chocolate, no matter what it takes. We’ve been ruthless before. These guys don’t know who they’re dealing with.”
    Junior looked back out the window at the back of the plant. “Yeah, we’re two wheeler-dealers in Kansas City who gypped the rest of our family out of millions of dollars. Watch out, world,” he said quietly.
    “I know you’ve ordered beans from Brazil and Mexico and I don’t want you to cancel those orders. They won’t get away with this.” Claude grabbed the gift block ofchocolate off his brother’s desk and walked out.
    Junior stared into space a few minutes longer, then walked over to the phone and dialed. “Janie, its Junior.”
    “Hi, Uncle. What can I do for you?” The voice on the other end was businesslike.
    “I just wanted to tell you, Claude showed me the package for the ten-pound blocks and you did a great job. It looks very nice.”
    “Boy, Uncle, you really know how to throw around a compliment.‘It looks very nice,’ well, whoopee.” The voice had warmed up slightly, had a little tease in it.
    Junior smiled. “That was a Midwestern compliment, Janie. I don’t want to spoil you. It looks terrific. You’re a good graphic designer.”
    “Thanks, boss.”
    “Janie, I would like you to come to this press conference we’re having down here at the plant on Friday,” Junior said, and hesitated, looking for the right words. “It would mean a lot to me to have you there, you know…”
    “You mean as the only member of the rest of the Foster family that will speak to you?” The voice was laughing now.
    “Will you come?” Junior tried not to ever talk about the family breach.
    “Hey, I’m as curious as the next guy. Even though I’ve been working on the designs, I don’t really know what’s going down. So, Uncle, I’ll be there with bells on. Oh, by the way, sorry about the blimp, another thing I didn’t know about.”
    “You know the marketing guys, always coming up with something. This time it didn’t work out very well. I’ll see you Friday then,” Junior said, hanging up the phoneabsently. His mind was already on to the next thing: how to save his company.
    M arie Whitmer hadn’t really meant to listen in. Usually when the brothers were meeting together they didn’t even bother to close the door. It wasn’t completely closed this time. But Marie couldn’t help but notice when Junior came in that he was preoccupied, seemed worried today. Then when he’d told her about the fellow coming from Africa and others following him and to get them all hotel rooms, she could tell something wasn’t right. She’d worked for the brothers for twenty years. She knew them like the back of her hand. Yes, something was wrong. Proof of that was how Claude had just stormed out of Junior’s office, slamming the door of his own office shut. He never did that. He liked to be able to call to Marie instead of using the intercom.
    Marie, feeling uneasy about what she was about to do, did it anyway. She picked up the phone and dialed, swiveling her chair to turn her body away from the brothers’ offices.
    S itting at the bar at the Fairmont Hotel, looking out at the Plaza, Oliver Bodden had to concede Kansas City was lovely. The lights on all the buildings were a nice touch. He looked down at the newspaper beside his martini glass, and smiled again at the photograph of the ruined blimp. Foster’s was already in trouble. The brothers might try to make light of this tragedy, but it wasn’t good.
    “Quite a story, eh?” The woman sitting two barstools down gave him a smile and indicated the newspaper.
    “Well, yes, it looks as if I’ve arrived in town one day too late for the excitement,” Oliver said in that lovely, clipped British accent of his. “Are you staying here at the hotel and did you happen to see anything?” he asked politely.
    “Oh, no,”