Fisk was more impressed by the emotive delivery than by the content. Salesmanship really was an art.
"How much?"
"Mr. Centers, we are offering these lots at—now listen carefully because this is hard to believe—at one-quarter price. Thir-ty sev-en thou-sand five hun-dred dollars for a property worth one hun-dred and fif-ty thou-sand dollars." Bondman spaced out the syllables to make the figures absolutely clear and emphatic.
"That's my bonus for nabbing your 'interplanetary call' gimmick?"
Bondman rolled his eyes expressively but did not take exception to Fisk's choice of words. "Of course not, Mr. Centers. That's our one-time special-offer bargain price. For you alone we provide the bonus price. Don't tell anyone else, because if word got out that anyone beat the bargain price there would be resentment. Even—" and a great rippling shrug bespoke consequences so vast that to invoke them by name would be foolhardy.
Bondman did not speak that mind-shattering figure. Instead he fed it into his mailfax. The full contract emerged from Fisk's slot. He paged through it while Bondman waited expectantly, anticipating the client's amazed pleasure.
Thirty thousand dollars. In other words, the straight twenty percent reduction the certificate had promised.
Yes, it did seem like a good buy. Still, Fisk had had some experience in such matters. He skimmed through until he found the small print—actually regular type buried in an otherwise innocuous paragraph.
Ownership remained with Mars, Ltd. until the stipulated amount had been paid in full. In the event of default, the property reverted to Mars, Ltd. without refund. The risk of capital was all with the purchaser, unless he bought outright for cash. Very interesting.
"Now you see the bargain we are offering you, Mr. Centers," Bondman said gravely. "Frankly, you are one of the very last to receive the thirty-seven fifty figure, let alone the bonus deal. Demand has been even greater than we anticipated, with many people buying multiple lots. Blocks of four—or even more. There will have to be a price increase. After all, the company needs capital—it is ridiculous for us to sell so low when our own clients are turning around and selling their lots for more. Why only last week a man sold five for two hundred thousand flat—and he'd only bought them last month. He made a twelve thousand profit on a three-week investment—and that's only the one we know about. Others—" here his shoulders rose in another eloquent shrug. "Where, Mr. Centers, is the limit?"
"Why didn't the second buyer come to you first?" Fisk inquired. Actually the described profit was only about six percent and normal fluctuation of the market could readily account for it. But it did seem to auger well for the growth prospects. Fisk could buy five lots for $150,000 not $187,500, and make that much more.
"Apparently he didn't realize our price was as low as it was," Bondman said sadly. "He thought he had information. The biggest sucker is the one who thinks he knows it all—right, Mr. Centers? If he had only checked with us—but of course our price won't be lower after this week. So he has a good investment anyway—though not as good as it could have been. If our lots are going for forty thousand—well, we do need capital," he finished almost apologetically. "You understand."
Yes, Fisk was certainly interested now. Buy for thirty, sell for forty—but he knew better than to appear eager. "I might take a lot or two," he said. "But it's a lot of money. I'd have to liquidate some other investments and that would take time."
"I understand perfectly," Bondman agreed instantly. "I had to do the same when I invested in my own first Mars lot. It was well worth it, of course. Fortunately we have a time payment plan exactly suited to your situation. Ten-year term, so that it will be paid up when Elysium Acres opens and the real gold rush begins. Irrevocable six percent interest. Just three hundred and twenty-five dollars a month covers all, Mr. Centers—we absorb the cover charge. How does that suit you?"
Fisk checked the figures quickly in his head. They were fair—six percent on a decreasing principal. No funny business there, no usury. And he would be able to liquidate his investments profitably within a year and pay off the rest, saving the interest. Some contracts had penalty clauses for early payment, but this one fortunately did not.
"Sounds good," he admitted.
"Good? Good?" Bondman demanded rhetorically. "Mr. Centers, how would you like to buy a cyclotron at the sheet metal price? That's how good it is! But that isn't all. What we are talking about is three-twenty-five a month—less than eleven dollars a day to control a genuine Marsland property now selling for—" He broke off, nodding significantly toward the contract with a secret figure. "And with values quadrupling—or more—in the period of agreement. Mr. Centers, you are actually investing a paltry three-twenty-five a month for a return of at least a hundred and fifty thousand in a mere decade."
Fisk knew. Thirty thousand dollars, plus nine thousand dollars accumulated interest for the ten-year span. For $150,000 value. A net profit of $111,000, or over eleven thousand per year—per lot. With just three lots he could triple his fortune.
"Still, it's a sizable amount. Are you sure it's safe? I mean, suppose something happens and the dome doesn't get built. The lots would become almost worthless."
"Mr. Centers, it certainly is a pleasure to do business with you," Bondman exclaimed. "You don't miss a trick. Of course there is a nominal element of risk. Life itself is the biggest risk of all. But by buying on time you can eliminate even that one-in-a-thousand chance. Just consider. If something should happen to abort Elysium Acres tomorrow—and I assure nothing short of World War Four could squelch our plans—and you had bought today and paid your deposit premium, what would you have lost? Three hundred and twenty-five dollars. Why, Mr. Centers—you must blow more than that on one good suit."
Extremely sharp observation. Fisk had paid more than that for his dress suit.
Bondman followed up his advantage, knowing he had scored. "Considering the hundred and fifty thousand value—just what are you risking? One suit."
"But suppose something happens in two years. Or nine. I can't afford to lose a suit every month."
"Mr. Centers," Bondman said sternly. "I'm a busy man and this call is expensive. Don't waste my time and yours with inconsequentials. If you don't trust the stability of a fine new developer like Mars, Limited, don't invest. Or if you believe it will fail in two years, sell in one year. Your property will have increased in value at least ten percent—in fact, considering the coming price rise, twenty percent may be a more accurate estimate. But just keep it simple, let's call it ten percent. That's between three and four thousand dollars, right? And how much are you paying per year?"
"Between three and four thousand dollars," Fisk said.
"So if you sell then, your return on your actual investment will be just about one hundred percent. This is leverage, Mr. Centers—using a small amount of money to control a large amount of money. And the profit is yours even if, as you say, Mars, Limited fails in two years. Or nine. Ha-ha." He leaned forward again, speaking intensely. "The dome may fail, Mr. Centers—but you won't."
Fisk laughed. "Very well, Mr. Bondman. You've sold me. Just give me a little time to check around—" This was a key ploy. If the salesman were out to take him he would do anything to prevent a fair investigation of the facts. And of course Fisk wouldn't buy without checking. That was the big advantage in being an experienced fifty. He couldn't be stampeded.