Brinkley asked me to write it down verbatim, and I didn't change a single word. Not even the part of the husband or wife. Well, maybe I changed you to save you, but what's the difference
Reynolds blinked twice. He seemed to come to some conclusions, opened the door of his building, and went in without saying a word.
The South Tower where Mr. Reynolds works is very large, extending to the last few days. In my opinion, this building is like a cat, with a pointed radio antenna on each side of the roof. We followed him and his swinging briefcase through the revolving glass door into the building, where it smelled like women's perfume and floor oil. Once we affixed the plastic tourist badge, we took the elevator to Reynolds' office on the 15th floor. His office is the coolest and strangest thing I have ever seen.
It is like a double glazing inlaid in glass. The entrance is two glass doors pushed open. The outer wall is a complete window overlooking the center of Nashville. The floor is a pale hardwood, shining in the slanting autumn light. A spiral staircase with transparent steps winding on the right side, very modern. On the lower level, only the secretary’s desk and a clear view of the city. Reynolds's desk is located above, and the attic-like part is suspended in the air.
Fortunately, he didn't like to wear skirts, otherwise the poor secretary could see more downtown scenes on the transparent floor hanging above her desk. Of course, this is two-way. I am sure that his job is to enjoy the sun and the ditch.
His desk and bookshelf are as transparent as the windows behind him. I gave Allie a tired look. She got it.
"We need your blood type," she said, and Reynolds put his briefcase on the desk.
"O type blood yang xìng, why?"
"This is a large piece of glass." I leaned over the metal railing around the attic area and saw the secretary's desk and the floor below. I know people like fashionable modern styles, but all I see is an accident waiting to happen. "We may have a problem."
Renault looked confused. "The doctor told me that any type of death can be replaced."
No reputable doctor would tell him this. I can only do so much for a corpse. Most of my clients need medical care after replacement. For example, close-range gunshot wounds to the head are not replaceable. What does he want me to do? Take his brain block and stuff it into his skull
Allie sat on one of the four bright red chairs opposite Reynolds's desk. This was the only bit of color in the whole place, except for the ferns that hung them.
"Fan Fan can die for you, but she cannot heal your body. If you are cut, you will need blood."
I investigated the titles of the books on his bookshelf, and I didn't find a little bit of joy to read, a real annoyance, this guy. I am looking for one by one, common interest, anything that makes me want to save Reynolds. No.
Allie took out a survey bag and a clipboard from her oversized wallet, and then went fishing for a pen. Then she stretched out the ballpoint pen with a single tap and sat down on the chair. "When you set up the computer, I wonder if I can ask you some questions about your replacement experience?"
Reynolds untied the cord of his laptop, and he stopped and unwrapped it. "She did nothing."
"No, not yet," Allie said, smiling as she worked with me. "You will receive the post-replacement survey in the mail within a week or two. I hope you can fill it out and put it back in the prepaid envelope. These questions are related to the admissions process."
Reynolds bent down and inserted the wire into the surge protector under his desk. "Well, Ms. Gallagher, if this makes your job easier."
She hid her hair behind her ears, trying to make herself look cute. "Yes, thank you."
Ai Li may be a lesbian lover, but she knows how to attract men's attention. I rolled my eyes. These two people make me feel sick. She prepared her pen. "Did you deliberately arrange the death check or did the doctor recommend it?"
He sat in his seat and turned on the computer. "I went to check my blood pressure, recommended by the doctor. He explained that if I pre-screened, my insurance rate would go down."
"How much time has passed between the doctor's referral and your meeting with ."
"Psychic analyst."
"Oh, that psychic," he said, his eyes gleaming with approval. "I met her two days later."
"Psychic is another derogatory term, Mr. Reynolds," I said. Not to mention using an inaccurate way to describe those veterans, medically modified analysts. My favorite is Gloria. She hates the word psychic, and when your friends are away, you have to defend them. "We talked about derogatory terms, didn't we?"
In any case, the public should not think of them as psychics. Somehow, that dirty little secret was leaked. The public relations department tries to be seen as a genius statistician, a smart person who can master all the factors of a person’s life, and guesses when they will die within 4 hours, up to a year earlier. With the word "psychic" or the word "guessing", no one will invest in alternative industries, because modern people only believe in science and money. Of course, Ryan, my lover sometimes, thinks that telling people that Guinea pig soldiers are tortured into drug-dependent patients with mental illness will not arouse much confidence. He made sense.
The death management industry, including the entire screening process, has a success rate of 95%. This is almost as good as contraception. No one wants to be surprised at death, and now they don't have to be surprised. People like this sense of security. The Federal Zhèng Fǔ likes the fact that every aspect of this process requires taxation. Hello, income. The military likes their biggest failure in this decade, and they are actively reversing it.
Bringing the death management industry into the mainstream has created jobs, increased income, and basically dragged our heads to the surface of economic recession. Even China and Rìben have launched their own industries in the past few months. The number of death screening advertisements has now exceeded twice that of adenocarcinoma advertisements. However, not everyone accepts this industry.
The church launched an anti-death management movement shortly after the establishment of the industry. But until recently, when the Conservative Party came to power, their power was not really felt. Fewer people are being screened. Those fat pockets are getting thinner. I am considering the possibility of unemployment within a year or two. Frankly speaking, I have no opinion on this, but for other reasons.
"Your name and how long did it take for her to complete your assessment?" Allie asked.
"Gildroy, Godfrey, or..." his voice came. His eyes looked down, not concentrating. "I don't remember. The doctor called me earlier the following week and asked me to come back to discuss my options."
"How did you feel when you first heard the news?"
He leaned on the chair and stroked his hair with thick fingers. "You mean, when a doctor tells me something psychic, oh, sorry,. Said I am about to die? This is not a conversation between a professional and another expert. I didn't believe it at first."
Allie kept nap on the pages of the book, "When the doctor told you the analyst's results, did he explain your choice?"
He scratched his chin. "Either I seized the opportunity and hoped that no accident happened this day, or I took precautions."
"Is this a difficult decision?" Allie asked, looking up from the page.
"Actually not," he replied. "If nothing happens, I will get the money back. I would say that my life is more than fifty dollars."
"Yes," Allie said.
If I mess up and he dies, I have to pay the money back. I might die, and I won't even get my 0% share. Since he is dead, I think it doesn't matter to him.
"Last question. Would you recommend death substitutes to family or friends?"
"Ask me this question at the end of the day," he said. "Once I saw what happened."
Behind one of the books, I found a red panda, the kind you squeezed out, with eyes protruding from your head. When you pinch the panda, it creaks. I pointed at Reynolds with it and squeezed it. "what are you doing here?"
He walked around the table and took the panda away from me, just like a man took the mother's urn from a child's dirty and unreliable fingers.
"I am a marketing and media consultant," he said. "We advertise for local businesses, nightclubs and popular consumer goods."
I bet he is from our public relations department. Otherwise, I'm not sure why Boss Brinkley put his files in my trash can. If I ask, I will definitely not tell me. The boss is very tight-lipped unless he gives orders directly.
The secretary went home at 5 pm. I have been working for 17 hours, so I decided to turn over her desk to avoid sleepiness.
In addition to an impressive series of writing tools, there are a few pictures of her children and a coffee cup on her desk with the words "Procrastination and Risk!" A truly enterprising person. I worked with her record company and labeled "Zombies Touched This". Huh!" Her chair, her cup, her computer. I let go of the pictures of the children.
When I was about to surf the Internet, I pressed the power button and was taken aback by a loud noise. In the depths of the computer tower, something hissed, and a plume of smoke drifted through the ventilation holes.
Oh shit.
I put my forehead on the table. The second computer this week. It's as if I short-circuited an electronic device alone. (To be continued) (End of this chapter)