Fleming: I should've trusted you sooner, Brette. You really saved my bacon back there.
Fleming: I never imagined things could go this smoothly. That client you introduced me to was perfect; my first shipment is already out.
Tennant: I believe my fee was ten percent of the deal, cash.
Fleming leans closer, locking eyes with Tennant.
Fleming: I was waiting to see when you'd name your price.
Fleming bursts into a belly laugh, then pulls a thick stack of bills from his coat and hands it over.
Fleming: There's no better conversation than one that ends with money—and no easier conversation partner than someone who wants yours.
Fleming: Say, you'd call yourself a businessperson, wouldn't you?
Tennant: Last time I checked.
Fleming: Ah, but I get the feeling you've got something else going. What's your real angle?
Tennant: Research. Pointless research, I'm afraid. Far from profitable.
Fleming: Research?
Tennant: It isn't worth wasting words.
The car comes to a steady stop at the curb.
Tennant: I should go. Best of luck with your business, Fleming.
Fleming: You live here? Do you mind if I were to swing by sometime?
Tennant: I'm out, Mr. Fleming.
Fleming: Huh?
Tennant: I have no intention of digging myself deeper into the arms trade. This was just a means to an end.
Fleming: No, wait.
Fleming: Can't I just come by as a new friend?
Tennant: Allow me to stress this: I'm not interested.
Fleming: Not about business. Just a drink. Conversation.
Fleming: Maybe we'll find other ways to work together.
Tennant: ...
Tennant: If you insist, we can go upstairs and talk.
The room is nothing like what Fleming imagined.
No heavy grandfather clock in the corner, no mounted trophies on the walls, no spacious, luxurious sofa in sight.
Tennant: I'm afraid I'm far from set up to entertain guests. This is a lab, not a parlor.
Fleming: You actually live here?
Tennant sighs helplessly and sets the cash she just received on the table.
Tennant: Every franc I earn goes into the instruments and materials in this room.
Tennant: Seven hundred and fifty thousand francs, so far.
Fleming's face twitches, his scars contorting with it.
Fleming: What could possibly be worth that much?
Tennant: We really shouldn't talk business, Fleming. Besides, I worry you'll start comparing me to Adelita.
Fleming: What does that fraud have to do with this? C'mon, Brette, let me in on this thing.
Fleming: You're a smart gal. If you've spent three-quarters of a million francs on this place. Well, I refuse to believe it's something foolish.
Reluctantly, Tennant picks up a clear beaker and swirls it, the crisp clink echoing through the lab.
Tiny sparks glimmer at the bottom.
Tennant: These are diamonds. But they weren't mined from any pit.
Tennant: The raw material is nothing more than charcoal. And they were made right here, in this little room.
Fleming: ... Give me a break, diamonds, really?!
Tennant sets the beaker back down and covers it with a handkerchief.
Tennant: See, Fleming? This is why I didn't want to talk about it.
Tennant: I assume you think this is just another scam.
Fleming: No ... no, not at all!
Fleming: Now I see. This is why you exposed Adelita's trick so quickly.
Fleming: You're exactly who you say you are. An expert in your trade.
Fleming: You and that fraudster are nothing alike. I can feel it.
Fleming: You're calm, disciplined. My friend, you're a—yes, a scientist. A true scientist.
Fleming: And this is one hell of a science. Diamonds from charcoal. I've heard of the idea before.
Fleming: Tell me, Brette. Who else knows this technique?
Tennant: For now, just you and me.
Fleming: And once they're made ... they stay diamonds?
Tennant: ... I've never seen one turn back into charcoal.
Fleming steps forward, lifts the handkerchief without asking, and peers into the beaker.
The diamonds refract the light, dazzling in his eyes.
He breathes hard, squinting.
Fleming: We could do something big with this, Brette. Growing diamonds! Just think of the money!
Tennant: We would need more than this lab. To produce anything at capacity and make it cost-effective, we'd need a proper factory.
Fleming: Then tell me—how much to turn your little lab into an underground factory?
Tennant takes a long moment to form her answer.
Tennant: Ten million francs.
