"This is a treaty," Arthur whispered. "For a war that hasn't started."
It was 4:45 PM on a Friday. The acquisition paperwork for the Meridian merger—a stack of paper thick enough to stun an ox—sat on his desk. The problem wasn't the legal work; that was done. The problem was the physical reproduction. The copier on the forty-second floor, a beast of a machine that usually hummed with the confidence of a German luxury car, was currently displaying an error message that simply read: FATAL EXCEPTION.
He opened the browser. copyfaxes com loaded instantly. copyfaxes com
"I can't print this," Arthur said. "This changes history."
"For now," the man said. He handed Arthur a business card. It was blank white cardstock. "Keep this. If you ever need us again... just type." "This is a treaty," Arthur whispered
Until the day his hard drive crashed.
"Copyfaxes," Arthur said, the name feeling strange on his tongue. The problem wasn't the legal work; that was done
At the bottom, in small print, it read: We prefer to remain unindexed. We appreciate your business.