“Wearing a carefully ironed and starched white shirt and new tie, he arrived at TD’s central administrative offices in Washington, D.C., at exactly eight a.m. He felt confident. TD employees had treated him with deference ever since he had turned the defective ‘scuttler over to them. After all, he could take it back . . . or, at least, so Pethel reasoned. Two officials of the company, both of them tense, accompanied him to Mr Turpin’s office on the twentieth floor, depositing him there, and ...at once hurrying off. Now he was on his own. The board chairman of TD did not awe Darius Pethel. ‘Morning, Mr Turpin,’ he said in greeting. ‘I hope I’m not late.’ He was not sure where the group was assembling. Probably down in the subsurface labs near the ‘scuttler. ‘Ump,’ the old man said, glancing at him sideways, the wrinkled neck twisting like a turkey’s. ‘Oh, yes. Pedal.’ ‘Pethel.’ ‘So you want to be in on things, do you?’ Leon Turpin studied him, smiling a thin, gleeful smile.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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