he had ordered the burger without onions. He deduced on the ride down that they needed more info or data or something to make an educated decision. As the door opened, there was Sal.
“C’mon, let’s go.” “What’s going on?”
“Lots,” Sal said. He dragged Nick by the right arm, but slowed down as they approached the set of double doors. “Look, you understand the responsibility all this brings, right?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Well, just enjoy the moment.” Sal opened the doors and pushed
his son forward. “I found him!”
The president of the Million Dollar Roundtable was now on stage, slamming his gavel on the lectern multiple times in an attempt to quiet the crowd. Only until after he bellowed, “Quiet!” did the chatter reduce to a murmur.
“Mr. Nick Harris, could you join me, please?”
Nick strode up the side steps to the stage to join this hefty, partially gray man and extended his hand.
“Nick, I am Bob Nearshaw, president of MDR. On behalf of all of us here, we didn’t want you to go back home without knowing how touched we were by your presentation.” The crowd again broke out into resounding applause. Nick recognized them with a nod.
“After you had left, we asked your father to answer a few questions that some of our members had, and we agree there is no downside. I, as well as everyone in this room, would like nothing more than to have cancer eradicated. I also wouldn’t mind the chance to tell a trial lawyer or two where to stick it.” He smiled as the room filled with chuckles. “So, we took a quick vote to see how many members here would like to be part of your army and support the Kristen Foundation Project. Now, keep in mind, this would take a legal agreement and no funds would be exchanged until a cancer cure could be found. Correct?”
“Absolutely, sir,” said Nick. He looked back at his father. “Well, we took a vote, and as I recall you were looking for a
hundred companies to pledge ten million dollars each. Is that
correct?”
“Yes, sir, but any amount would help.”