Quarter past midnight.
"Hello?"
"Billy, did I wake you?" a croaky voice asked.
"Who's calling, please?"
"I knew it! Working late as usual. How's the ol' boss?"
"Byron! I'm fine. How are you and Grace?"
"A-okay. We're staying for an extra while here in Maine.
Sailing's been good. Few more weeks left."
"Great to hear."
"I'm calling for a favor," Byron said.
"Shoot."
"I need some of my old stuff from my office there in New York."
As the most prominent inventor in ICP's history, Byron was
granted lifelong privileges that included an office that was
cleaned every day and kept in a ready state, should he ever
decide to drop by and sit in, for whatever reason.
"Sure. What kind of stuff?" William said and smiled to himself.
His honorable former partner was experiencing post-retirement
pangs. He probably wanted to browse through his old journals,
notes, take a trip down memory lane, as it were.
"On my shelf, right behind my desk, there's a binder called
'Advanced Network Agent Design.'"
William snapped on the desk lamp and wrote himself a note.
"I'll have Barbara send it to you. Anything else?"
"No. I mean, no, I don't want you to send it to me. I want you to
send it to this address," Byron said.
William heard some papers shuffling.
"Here it is: 42 Inlet Drive, Camden, Maine, 04288.
Pages:
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