sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you bunches Pc.
Story Grace, Mercy and Blessings
- Thread starter PacNorWest
- Start date
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#538
Gary looked around comically, twisting around to look behind him. "The guy who?" he asked, wondering what in the heck was happening.
"You just stand still, you shyster. Ben, I am here to serve you with these papers." Breezy was practically beside herself with glee. So, the whole rotten bunch of these really strange people thought they were going to pull the wool over her eyes. Well, she had her man.
"I'm not Ben," Gary protested. "My name is Gary."
"Oh no you're not. I was told you were a slick liar, so you just keep on lying and you can read these papers as you call yourself any name you darn well please."
"My name is Gary Thompson Linderman, I have several picture pieces of ID." and Gary went to get his wallet.
"Hold it!" Breezy shouted as her little revolver came up in her right hand. "No funny business Mister," she barked. "You wouldn't be the first person I've has to shoot."
So quietly and swiftly, every member in the kitchen had drawn their own guns, and Breezy's mouth was agape with the amount of hardware pointed at her.
"Put that stupid little gun away," Gary snarled in his best military voice. "If you don't, you will be shot. That might be a good way to end this fiasco, we will shoot you and dump your body. Think back, how many people know you were coming out here? How soon will you be missed?"
There was a flash of panic across Breezy's face she didn't control. She could feel her goose being cooked right before her eyes. She had been so sure this was a hick-ville easy last serve, that she had disregarded procedure and left the office without filing her process location.
Gary noticed, he watched the woman carefully; never taking his eyes off the frustrated and angry woman. "My name is Gary, and I'm going to prove it to you. Lower that damn gun." he ordered.
With a huge dramatic sigh, Breezy lowered her weapon. What else could she do? She acquiesced rapidly, searching desperately for a way to save face and get this obviously lying man to accept the process paper.
"Ahh, Ahh, I guess I'll have a look at your ID. Bring it over here" boldly, Breezy countered.
"Not a chance," Gary sneered, "you get over here and ask nicely, or we will have the pleasure of shooting you." There was so much finality and yet promise of destruction in his voice, that Breezy obeyed. She told herself, there wasn't anything else she could do under the circumstances."
Gary opened his wallet, dog eared and smudged from years of rubbing together, the aged cards proved the man was who he said he was.
"Sit down," Gary pulled out a chair in a gentlemanly gesture, pointing for Breezy to sit herself down and listen. As she was sitting down, Gary swiftly removed the sheaf of papers from her unsuspecting hand.
Breezy went to object her treatment and grab her papers back; when Gary roughly shoved the chair against the back of her legs, buckling the medium solid woman into the seat. "I said sit down," he emphasized.
Gary looked around comically, twisting around to look behind him. "The guy who?" he asked, wondering what in the heck was happening.
"You just stand still, you shyster. Ben, I am here to serve you with these papers." Breezy was practically beside herself with glee. So, the whole rotten bunch of these really strange people thought they were going to pull the wool over her eyes. Well, she had her man.
"I'm not Ben," Gary protested. "My name is Gary."
"Oh no you're not. I was told you were a slick liar, so you just keep on lying and you can read these papers as you call yourself any name you darn well please."
"My name is Gary Thompson Linderman, I have several picture pieces of ID." and Gary went to get his wallet.
"Hold it!" Breezy shouted as her little revolver came up in her right hand. "No funny business Mister," she barked. "You wouldn't be the first person I've has to shoot."
So quietly and swiftly, every member in the kitchen had drawn their own guns, and Breezy's mouth was agape with the amount of hardware pointed at her.
"Put that stupid little gun away," Gary snarled in his best military voice. "If you don't, you will be shot. That might be a good way to end this fiasco, we will shoot you and dump your body. Think back, how many people know you were coming out here? How soon will you be missed?"
There was a flash of panic across Breezy's face she didn't control. She could feel her goose being cooked right before her eyes. She had been so sure this was a hick-ville easy last serve, that she had disregarded procedure and left the office without filing her process location.
Gary noticed, he watched the woman carefully; never taking his eyes off the frustrated and angry woman. "My name is Gary, and I'm going to prove it to you. Lower that damn gun." he ordered.
With a huge dramatic sigh, Breezy lowered her weapon. What else could she do? She acquiesced rapidly, searching desperately for a way to save face and get this obviously lying man to accept the process paper.
"Ahh, Ahh, I guess I'll have a look at your ID. Bring it over here" boldly, Breezy countered.
"Not a chance," Gary sneered, "you get over here and ask nicely, or we will have the pleasure of shooting you." There was so much finality and yet promise of destruction in his voice, that Breezy obeyed. She told herself, there wasn't anything else she could do under the circumstances."
Gary opened his wallet, dog eared and smudged from years of rubbing together, the aged cards proved the man was who he said he was.
"Sit down," Gary pulled out a chair in a gentlemanly gesture, pointing for Breezy to sit herself down and listen. As she was sitting down, Gary swiftly removed the sheaf of papers from her unsuspecting hand.
Breezy went to object her treatment and grab her papers back; when Gary roughly shoved the chair against the back of her legs, buckling the medium solid woman into the seat. "I said sit down," he emphasized.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Wonderful, thank you Pac.
223shootersc
Veteran Member
Ms. Pac good stuff!
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#539
Mark had tipped the cab driver well, and got a friendly wave from the pleased man. That was the last thing that went well in his morning.
The bank was coldly suspicious of him turning up so close to the deadline they had set for absorbing the decent amount of money in his almost inactive account. Mark was patient, but furious. The frightened teller privy to his barely contained anger, as her bosses hemmed and hawed, trying every way to stall the imposing man from withdrawing his cash.
Mark produced all the required documents, the bank fussing because his pictured driver's license was so near to expiring, they didn't want to accept it as proof of identity.
"I've been out of the country for work," was the only explanation he would give them. Finally, fed up too the top of his steaming face, Mark flipped open his vest to show his marshal's star and asked for the bank president.
All the vice president's that had been involved in the haranguing stall, suddenly got very quiet, deferring to the bank's highest official. The very super officious man disliked being paged by his underlings when he was on a conference call with his extended family in Italy.
Brady Simpson came out of his office with a black scowl and laser focused attention. The moment he saw Mark, he deflated like a balloon. The imposing, white haired man could have only been one man. Brady quickly remembered his ruined uncle, and instantly decided Mark could possibly do the same to him.
The bank president's underground had long reverberated with the legend of Mark Linderman, dating back to the time the man had lived in Henderson and had the run in with his uncle Farley.
Mark held his face impassive, but inside he was smirking at the flash of pure fear that whoever the high man on the totem pole was, he wasn't disciplined enough to hide.
"How may I assist you," Brady managed to get the words out in a near normal sounding voice.
Mark smiled a small half smile that looked completely feral to the nervous manager. Brady had the sinking feeling that things were not right, and they might never be right again.
His supposition was entirely correct.
Mark asked for his bank records to be printed, and right away, he noticed the money he had collected in the Washington D.C. branch had not been deducted.
He noted with curiosity that several more life insurance policies that had been paid for by his spurious uncle Wade had been deposited in his account. Shaking his head in almost disbelief at the never ending source of money, Mark's action almost caused Brady to have a heart attack.
Simpson wasn't sure what had made the customer shake his head in negativity, but Brady really didn't want to find out. He sent several dark looks toward his hapless vice- presidents that promised retribution for shady misdeeds. Never mind that he had to personally approve any take overs of inactive accounts, he had underlings to take the rap; leaving his reputation unsullied. Or, so he hoped.
Mark's steely gaze unnerved most of the staff as they restored and repaired the damage he perceived they had done.
By the time Mark left the bank, Brady had to retreat to his office behind closed doors and have a nip from the bottle in his special desk drawer. Uncle had often bitterly complained about the larger than life man and how he had ruined his career as a lawyer, plus the distinguished careers several of bank president friends.
Brady was not an overly religious man, but he said several fervent prayers of thanks during the rest of his day. The trouble was, he could feel that the episode was not settled according to the man's attitude. It made him nervous.
Mark had tipped the cab driver well, and got a friendly wave from the pleased man. That was the last thing that went well in his morning.
The bank was coldly suspicious of him turning up so close to the deadline they had set for absorbing the decent amount of money in his almost inactive account. Mark was patient, but furious. The frightened teller privy to his barely contained anger, as her bosses hemmed and hawed, trying every way to stall the imposing man from withdrawing his cash.
Mark produced all the required documents, the bank fussing because his pictured driver's license was so near to expiring, they didn't want to accept it as proof of identity.
"I've been out of the country for work," was the only explanation he would give them. Finally, fed up too the top of his steaming face, Mark flipped open his vest to show his marshal's star and asked for the bank president.
All the vice president's that had been involved in the haranguing stall, suddenly got very quiet, deferring to the bank's highest official. The very super officious man disliked being paged by his underlings when he was on a conference call with his extended family in Italy.
Brady Simpson came out of his office with a black scowl and laser focused attention. The moment he saw Mark, he deflated like a balloon. The imposing, white haired man could have only been one man. Brady quickly remembered his ruined uncle, and instantly decided Mark could possibly do the same to him.
The bank president's underground had long reverberated with the legend of Mark Linderman, dating back to the time the man had lived in Henderson and had the run in with his uncle Farley.
Mark held his face impassive, but inside he was smirking at the flash of pure fear that whoever the high man on the totem pole was, he wasn't disciplined enough to hide.
"How may I assist you," Brady managed to get the words out in a near normal sounding voice.
Mark smiled a small half smile that looked completely feral to the nervous manager. Brady had the sinking feeling that things were not right, and they might never be right again.
His supposition was entirely correct.
Mark asked for his bank records to be printed, and right away, he noticed the money he had collected in the Washington D.C. branch had not been deducted.
He noted with curiosity that several more life insurance policies that had been paid for by his spurious uncle Wade had been deposited in his account. Shaking his head in almost disbelief at the never ending source of money, Mark's action almost caused Brady to have a heart attack.
Simpson wasn't sure what had made the customer shake his head in negativity, but Brady really didn't want to find out. He sent several dark looks toward his hapless vice- presidents that promised retribution for shady misdeeds. Never mind that he had to personally approve any take overs of inactive accounts, he had underlings to take the rap; leaving his reputation unsullied. Or, so he hoped.
Mark's steely gaze unnerved most of the staff as they restored and repaired the damage he perceived they had done.
By the time Mark left the bank, Brady had to retreat to his office behind closed doors and have a nip from the bottle in his special desk drawer. Uncle had often bitterly complained about the larger than life man and how he had ruined his career as a lawyer, plus the distinguished careers several of bank president friends.
Brady was not an overly religious man, but he said several fervent prayers of thanks during the rest of his day. The trouble was, he could feel that the episode was not settled according to the man's attitude. It made him nervous.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
OH boy, another one. Thank you Pac.
223shootersc
Veteran Member
Thanks Pac, well worth the wait!
Nature_Lover
Wait! What?
Thank you Pac!
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#540
"We totally hope you understand your precarious position, Counsellor Linderman. You have been absent without a word for over two years. Exactly what did you suppose might happen during that time? Were you in prison? Unable to communicate?"
"It was very trying, extenuating circumstances," Toby didn't elaborate any further, keeping in mind he was a Linderman, and he met the curious and sometimes hostile stares with his own calm and assured look.
The eldest of the three crotchy old men heading the review board settled back in his chair and sent a thunderous glare at Toby. His caustic tone was calculated to strike fear into the hearts of wayward junior partners, smacking down the cocky and irresponsible lawyers that believed they were invincible.
"It is extremely distasteful for me to tell you that your grandfather left you 25% of this firm, and we....." the man indicated with a wave of his hands the other two senior partners, "find your behavior reprehensible and inexcusable."
Toby smiled a chilling and wolfish expression, and several of the older partners were struck by his uncanny resemblance to Warren Henderson. Toby saw the guarded tightening of the lesser members and saw no reason what so ever, to enlighten the men as to his non family relationship to his grandfather.
Toby's training came from Mark, and he kept his ram-rod straight posture and unwavering stare until most of the men dropped their gaze.
"That makes my decision much easier," Toby stared hard at the senior partners. "I offer my shares for sale at the going rate. I will send a service to pack my office and that of my grandfather. I expect all of his lawbooks and unfinished litigations to be included."
That was a financial blow to several of the partners that had extended lawsuits for over two to three years, milking lucrative corporation squabbles with Warren's name and judicial presence.
The older partners, appalled at the brashness and disregard for formal channels the upstart young lawyer was displaying, agreed to Toby's conditions. Anything to get rid of the distasteful person Toby Linderman turned out to be.
"Where would you like the check sent?" The voice was sneering and condescending at best, and Toby smiled harder.
"I'll be by at 3pm. tomorrow to pick the check up. Good day gentlemen, don't forget I have my grandfather's briefcase and notes on his open cases to cross reference."
That was a bald faced lie, Toby didn't have Warren's briefcase and that was something he needed to ask dad about.
There was total silence in the prestigious conference room after Toby left. Warren had been a majority owner in the law group, a far larger percentage than the 25% Toby had been told about. The check would tickle the north side of a million, or more.
Toby walked out the heavy glass doors, whistling a nameless little tune. His family need wheels, he was going shopping.
"We totally hope you understand your precarious position, Counsellor Linderman. You have been absent without a word for over two years. Exactly what did you suppose might happen during that time? Were you in prison? Unable to communicate?"
"It was very trying, extenuating circumstances," Toby didn't elaborate any further, keeping in mind he was a Linderman, and he met the curious and sometimes hostile stares with his own calm and assured look.
The eldest of the three crotchy old men heading the review board settled back in his chair and sent a thunderous glare at Toby. His caustic tone was calculated to strike fear into the hearts of wayward junior partners, smacking down the cocky and irresponsible lawyers that believed they were invincible.
"It is extremely distasteful for me to tell you that your grandfather left you 25% of this firm, and we....." the man indicated with a wave of his hands the other two senior partners, "find your behavior reprehensible and inexcusable."
Toby smiled a chilling and wolfish expression, and several of the older partners were struck by his uncanny resemblance to Warren Henderson. Toby saw the guarded tightening of the lesser members and saw no reason what so ever, to enlighten the men as to his non family relationship to his grandfather.
Toby's training came from Mark, and he kept his ram-rod straight posture and unwavering stare until most of the men dropped their gaze.
"That makes my decision much easier," Toby stared hard at the senior partners. "I offer my shares for sale at the going rate. I will send a service to pack my office and that of my grandfather. I expect all of his lawbooks and unfinished litigations to be included."
That was a financial blow to several of the partners that had extended lawsuits for over two to three years, milking lucrative corporation squabbles with Warren's name and judicial presence.
The older partners, appalled at the brashness and disregard for formal channels the upstart young lawyer was displaying, agreed to Toby's conditions. Anything to get rid of the distasteful person Toby Linderman turned out to be.
"Where would you like the check sent?" The voice was sneering and condescending at best, and Toby smiled harder.
"I'll be by at 3pm. tomorrow to pick the check up. Good day gentlemen, don't forget I have my grandfather's briefcase and notes on his open cases to cross reference."
That was a bald faced lie, Toby didn't have Warren's briefcase and that was something he needed to ask dad about.
There was total silence in the prestigious conference room after Toby left. Warren had been a majority owner in the law group, a far larger percentage than the 25% Toby had been told about. The check would tickle the north side of a million, or more.
Toby walked out the heavy glass doors, whistling a nameless little tune. His family need wheels, he was going shopping.
Griz3752
Retired, practising Curmudgeon
Yes
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you, old cons trying to con Toby.
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#541
Mark and Toby met up at noon, the immense car dealership a lure for the vehicle poor men. Like the spokes of a wagon wheel from the central business area; each spoke leading to a dealership with every car and truck manufacturer represented.
"I think I'm flabbergasted," Toby stood with his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. Staring in a 360 degree at the rows of gleaming new vehicles, Toby chose his favorite brand and started down the ramp into the pool of shark like salesmen.
There had been a customer drawing among the salesmen, and the winner stepped forward with a smile and a firm handshake.
Mark chose a different brand, walking down the ramp to his preference. His desire for a 15 passenger van, disappointed the sales person, but she was professional right down to ner prim and proper black suit and white blouse. The tap tap of her high heels on the pavement as they walked to the golf cart that would speed them to the back of the lot, where the less desirable vehicles were kept.
The size of the van reminded Mark of the fully customized van the prince had gifted. There was a pang for the luxury that would never be matched, but it was soon over as Mark went to concentrating on the task at hand.
Mark bought his van, wringing out the best price possible. Non-descript white with gray rock panels, the van was gas powered with a super quiet muffler. The size prevented it from being a stealth wagon, but Mark was entertaining the idea of painting Clora's day care on the side giving the van another layer of gray man disguise.
Mark was also aware Clora would be a hard sell on the idea. She felt her unusual name would pin point her quicker than writing 'Linderman Family' in bold letters on the van's side. It wasn't hard to remember the reactions Clora had given about the Applewoods Farm vans, and Mark knew he had to present the vehicle as a done deal. And, so he did what had to be done.
Toby bought a white Surburban with three row seating, grinning at the thought of cruising down the road in style.
Gary read the top paper, and the legalese disgusted him. "What does this mean?" he demanded harshly, waving the sheaf of paper just out of Ms. Breezy Collins reach.
"Do you accept these papers as Ben?" Breezy asked sweetly.
"No, I will not,; Gary thundered back.
"Then I'm not explaining anything. Admit that you are Ben, and I give you my word that you will understand everything."
"Well I'm not Ben, so I guess I'll never know." Gary was infuriatingly calm and he walked over to give the papers to Clora. "I'm going back to bed, I'm still tired." he announced as he turned toward the hall.
Mark and Toby met up at noon, the immense car dealership a lure for the vehicle poor men. Like the spokes of a wagon wheel from the central business area; each spoke leading to a dealership with every car and truck manufacturer represented.
"I think I'm flabbergasted," Toby stood with his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. Staring in a 360 degree at the rows of gleaming new vehicles, Toby chose his favorite brand and started down the ramp into the pool of shark like salesmen.
There had been a customer drawing among the salesmen, and the winner stepped forward with a smile and a firm handshake.
Mark chose a different brand, walking down the ramp to his preference. His desire for a 15 passenger van, disappointed the sales person, but she was professional right down to ner prim and proper black suit and white blouse. The tap tap of her high heels on the pavement as they walked to the golf cart that would speed them to the back of the lot, where the less desirable vehicles were kept.
The size of the van reminded Mark of the fully customized van the prince had gifted. There was a pang for the luxury that would never be matched, but it was soon over as Mark went to concentrating on the task at hand.
Mark bought his van, wringing out the best price possible. Non-descript white with gray rock panels, the van was gas powered with a super quiet muffler. The size prevented it from being a stealth wagon, but Mark was entertaining the idea of painting Clora's day care on the side giving the van another layer of gray man disguise.
Mark was also aware Clora would be a hard sell on the idea. She felt her unusual name would pin point her quicker than writing 'Linderman Family' in bold letters on the van's side. It wasn't hard to remember the reactions Clora had given about the Applewoods Farm vans, and Mark knew he had to present the vehicle as a done deal. And, so he did what had to be done.
Toby bought a white Surburban with three row seating, grinning at the thought of cruising down the road in style.
Gary read the top paper, and the legalese disgusted him. "What does this mean?" he demanded harshly, waving the sheaf of paper just out of Ms. Breezy Collins reach.
"Do you accept these papers as Ben?" Breezy asked sweetly.
"No, I will not,; Gary thundered back.
"Then I'm not explaining anything. Admit that you are Ben, and I give you my word that you will understand everything."
"Well I'm not Ben, so I guess I'll never know." Gary was infuriatingly calm and he walked over to give the papers to Clora. "I'm going back to bed, I'm still tired." he announced as he turned toward the hall.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Big smile, thank you Pac. Hot dang.What Sara said, LOL
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#542
"I demand my papers back," Breezy forcefully all but yelled out. "I have not given permission to anyone besides 'Ben' to read these papers. What gives you the right to read private papers?"
"I am the sister and only living relative of one of the Bens, and the mother to the other one." Clora forestalled any further protests with a direct stare and a wave of her hands.
"My brother Ben was directly involved with a law firm by the Collins name, based in San Diego. They were handling his wife's parent's estate. If I remember correctly, Lainey fired the Collins firm for gross incompetence, collusion and over billing. Are you associated with that firm?" The disapproval was thick and heavy in Clora's voice.
"Ah well, yes and no," Breezy stalled, trying to say the right combination of words. "In truth, they were my relatives, but we were not close, and I especially removed myself from their business practices. If this man is not Ben, may I know where he resides so I may deliver these papers to him."
"First of all, tell me how you happen to be alive after the tsunami destroyed the West Coast?" Nobody could out aristocrat Clora when she chose to exercise her powers. Clora's demands, backed Breezy into a wall.
Breezy had the notion she should immediately drop a curtsey and say 'your majesty,' but instead she took a deep breath and launched into her long and convoluted explanation.
"Ah well, this is gonna be really long." Breezy kept stalling, hopefully the woman would lose interest. But, it didn't look like that would happen anytime soon.
"I am a lawyer, but was branded the black sheep of my family. I suppose you want it all?" Breezy gave an exasperated sigh as she looked at Clora.
"Of course we do," Clora's tone was frosty and getting colder by the moment. For some reason, Clora was m[ghtly out of patience with all this fol de rol.
"Well, ---- I didn't want to have anything to do with my relatives, but they shipped me all the paperwork for some unknown reason. All the estate papers, everything," Breezy gave out a real put-upon sigh. "I sent letters to this Ben person and never heard any reply. Some of my letters were returned with European post marks, trying to catch up with him; I suppose. But anyway, I have papers for him to sign, to end the litigation, claim a modest amount of money that was inadvertently overlooked, and end my obligation to my family. I desire to get this all wrapped up as soon as possible." Breezy finished with a hopeful look at Clora.
Clora wasn't done asking questions. "How did you happen to have Gary's picture, understanding that he was Ben? That's a long stretch, in anyone's imagination." Clora wasn't willing to let go of the fishy feeling she was getting. Something was definitely 'off' and wrong.
"I demand my papers back," Breezy forcefully all but yelled out. "I have not given permission to anyone besides 'Ben' to read these papers. What gives you the right to read private papers?"
"I am the sister and only living relative of one of the Bens, and the mother to the other one." Clora forestalled any further protests with a direct stare and a wave of her hands.
"My brother Ben was directly involved with a law firm by the Collins name, based in San Diego. They were handling his wife's parent's estate. If I remember correctly, Lainey fired the Collins firm for gross incompetence, collusion and over billing. Are you associated with that firm?" The disapproval was thick and heavy in Clora's voice.
"Ah well, yes and no," Breezy stalled, trying to say the right combination of words. "In truth, they were my relatives, but we were not close, and I especially removed myself from their business practices. If this man is not Ben, may I know where he resides so I may deliver these papers to him."
"First of all, tell me how you happen to be alive after the tsunami destroyed the West Coast?" Nobody could out aristocrat Clora when she chose to exercise her powers. Clora's demands, backed Breezy into a wall.
Breezy had the notion she should immediately drop a curtsey and say 'your majesty,' but instead she took a deep breath and launched into her long and convoluted explanation.
"Ah well, this is gonna be really long." Breezy kept stalling, hopefully the woman would lose interest. But, it didn't look like that would happen anytime soon.
"I am a lawyer, but was branded the black sheep of my family. I suppose you want it all?" Breezy gave an exasperated sigh as she looked at Clora.
"Of course we do," Clora's tone was frosty and getting colder by the moment. For some reason, Clora was m[ghtly out of patience with all this fol de rol.
"Well, ---- I didn't want to have anything to do with my relatives, but they shipped me all the paperwork for some unknown reason. All the estate papers, everything," Breezy gave out a real put-upon sigh. "I sent letters to this Ben person and never heard any reply. Some of my letters were returned with European post marks, trying to catch up with him; I suppose. But anyway, I have papers for him to sign, to end the litigation, claim a modest amount of money that was inadvertently overlooked, and end my obligation to my family. I desire to get this all wrapped up as soon as possible." Breezy finished with a hopeful look at Clora.
Clora wasn't done asking questions. "How did you happen to have Gary's picture, understanding that he was Ben? That's a long stretch, in anyone's imagination." Clora wasn't willing to let go of the fishy feeling she was getting. Something was definitely 'off' and wrong.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you very much Pac.
223shootersc
Veteran Member
Thanks for the new chapter!