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Time to talk business.”
    Casper was tagging along after the other two and spoke up for the first time since they’d stopped at Trip Barnes’s. “Finney’s right. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”
    Orion felt, somehow, as though his machine had been slighted. He’d begun to think of the Ditch Witch drill as his very own, and wanted to show Finney everything. Finney hadn’t seen the anchoring system. Orion hadn’t yet sat up in the operator’s seat. He itched to climb aboard and examine the controls. He turned away and walked over to his station wagon, patted its side, and climbed in.
    They drove from Trip Barnes’s up Main Street and then over a block to Orion’s office, and parked behind the two-story frame building. The three climbed the outside stairs and Orion unlocked the door, which opened onto a large, airy room with skylights and windows on two sides and a drafting table in the center.
    Finney Solomon took off his sports coat and slung it over the back of a chair, opened up his briefcase on the drafting table, and the three sat down to business.
    “How did you and Casper get connected?” Orion asked.
    “Angelo Vulpone was my mentor,” Finney said. All three paused for a moment of respect in Angelo’s memory. “I knew about your project and after Angelo’s death I contacted Casper here.” He nodded at Casper, who was sitting to his left. “Angelo was a genius at spotting winners, and he was confident your project was a winner. He said his investment would pay off many times over, big time.”
    Casper nodded. Orion looked down at the table.
    “That’s why I’m interested,” said Finney. “When Angelo decided to invest in a construction project, it was a platinum seal of approval.”
    Orion produced several thick folders from a locked file cabinet and spread maps and diagrams and copies of permits in front of Finney, lists of contacts, lists of town officials, lists of equipment owned, leased, or required, budgets, schedules …
    Finney examined everything. Two hours later he said, “How much additional capital are you looking for?”
    “Fourteen million,” said Casper.
    Finney took out his iPad and worked it with a stylus. “Shouldn’t be a problem to raise that.” He looked over and saw Orion’s doubtful expression. “Believe it or not, it’s easier to raise fourteen million than it is to raise fourteen thousand.”
    “How long will it take to raise?” asked Orion, fishing a notebook out of his shirt pocket.
    “Guarantee you’ll have money in hand in six months.”
    “What do you mean by guarantee?”
    “You’ll have your fourteen million dollars. Period.” Finney’s voice was flat.
    “And your take is?” asked Orion, his pen poised over the notebook.
    “A monthly retainer for six months, and two percent of the funds raised.”
    Orion worked some figures. “Two percent of fourteen million comes to two hundred and eighty thousand, right?”
    “That’s right.”
    “And what’s your modest monthly retainer?”
    “Five thousand plus expenses,” said Finney.
    Orion scribbled some more. “Thirty thousand.” He looked up. “Three hundred thousand plus, for six months work? And I assume you’ve got other jobs going at the same time as well.”
    Finney didn’t answer.
    “That’s a lot of money.”
    Finney grinned. “Fourteen million is a lot of money.”
    Casper had been silent during this exchange. Orion turned to him. “What do you think, Casper?”
    Casper sat where a shaft of sunlight from the skylight struck his hair, turning it an almost fluorescent orange. He was doodling stars and dollar signs on the pad in front of him. “If he can raise fourteen million in six months, it’s worth every penny of it.”
    “If he can’t,” Orion stood, “we’re out thirty thousand plus expenses. Plus time. I want to see the contract.”
    Finney reached into his open briefcase. “Here it is. Look it over.” He slid a green plastic binder, legal size, down the table to