Phyllia Hawkwood glanced up from the call she was on, and held up her pen in a clear wait a minute gesture. Once she finished the call, she tiredly smiled at the handsome, if a bit scruffy around the edges tall man in the business suit with an odd looking sack in his arms. "Thank you for your patience, sir. Did you say the accounting department?" The middle aged red haired woman noted with a lift of her eyebrows that the man's request was, to say the least, a bit out of the ordinary. "Most people wish to see Doctor Valkonan, especially lately. But I will see if Mr. Milken is available. If you will excuse me, please?"

The efficient and definitely overworked receptionist pressed a particular button on her phone, and spoke in hushed tones into the receiver. Then she turned her attention back to the tall man at her desk. "I'm sorry, but Mr. Milken is unavailable today. However, you can meet with his assistant, Trudy Olsson. Her office is down that hall, make a left, then it's the fourth door on the right."

With an apologetic look to the man, Phyllia returned to the task of fielding the various calls that flooded Riverview Clinic's main line each day.

The thin, sharp featured brown haired woman spared a brief glance up from her monitor when the strange man poked his head in her office. "If you're a pill peddler, you're seriously lost. Pill peddlers need to check in with the Director of Admin," she stated in a monotone nasal tone of voice.

Trudy's gray eyes, magnified by her unflattering thick glasses lenses, blinked in undisguised surprise a few times when she gave the visitor a second, then a third look. "You're not a pill peddler, are you?" In her limited experience at the Clinic, pharmaceutical salesmen did wear business suits, but they also tended to be either overweight and balding, or short and mousy looking.

They don't carry around big sacks like that either. Nope, they tend to tote alligator skin briefcases. And they don't look that yummy, either.

She looked back at the monitor to calm the flush that rose to her face, instead of continuing to stare at her handsome visitor like she wanted to. "Okay, I'll bite. What's in the sack?"

Trudy stared at this Mr. Ergin, this time in total disbelief. "A million in gold. You're kidding me, right' No one, and I mean no one, ever carries around that much gold. That's like a mugging just waiting to happen."

So it's Maranya, is it' And not "Doctor Valkonan". I might've known. Figures.

"A million in gold. So, what?d you do, rob a bank?" she teased her handsome visitor.

What if he really did rob a bank" How exciting!

Trudy's laughter was reminiscent of a rusty hinge that had not seen use in quite some time. "You've got a weird sense of humor, Mister Ergin. Really weird."

She gave the bag a skeptical look before she opened it. Then she sighed. "You couldn't just bring in a bank draft, could you? I'll have to take this over to the bank on my lunch hour, along with the other deposits for the Clinic's account."

The accounting assistant reached in a desk drawer, and went through the process of assembling what turned out to be a receipt form, in triplicate, complete with sheets of old fashioned carbon paper between the layers. She neatly printed out the amount received, and signed the line marked Received By. Then she pushed the assembled form over to Alper for his signature, along with a ball point pen. "Sign here where it's marked Donated By. Make sure to press hard, to make sure the copies are legible."

"Most people don't bring in sacks of money every day, either," Trudy admitted reluctantly while she examined the form.

Then she frowned.

"No. No. No no no. You'll have to print your name under your signature" block letters please" because we have to have an exact name to tag to the amount being donated. For our records, you see."

She pushed the form back over to the man for him to comply with her thinly veiled demand.

Trudy expressively rolled her eyes at Alper. "Ooh, a man of mystery. I'll bet that gets you all the girls."

She examined the documents with a satisfied nod, and an air of Why couldn't you do this in the first place? "Much better. Much, much better."

The accounting assistant smoothly detached the middle, yellow copy of the receipt, and held it out for the donor to take. "There you are. Here's your receipt for your good deed."

Trudy was thrown off guard by the question, as she was caught staring at the handsome rogue of a man yet again.

"Huh' Oh, no, you're all done here, Mister Ergin. Thank you for your donation, which, as you know, is tax deductible," she answered finally, a bit flustered.

Wonder if he'd be interested in making a donation to my favorite charity. I doubt it, with the way he said "Maranya" before. Lucky witch.

She detached the other two forms from the receipt book, and filed them away properly.

Trudy took the business card from Mr. Ergin like it was made of solid platinum, savoring the brief brush of their fingers with the exchange. "O-of course, Mister Ergin. If I need you for anything else, I'll be sure to call."

A blush crept across the plain woman's face, and remained there with his parting innuendo.

"I sure hope you will, Mister Ergin. I-I mean, come back again," she stammered. "Thank you once again for contributing to Riverview Clinic."

And you can contribute to my favorite charity anytime.