insure.”
“Negligible because the odds of a successful robbery are small?”
“Exactly.”
“But it does happen, right?”
Peter thought about it. “I’m sure somewhere it has happened.”
“According to my friend, it happened here in Chicago. Ten cases of Mouton Rothschild worth over two million dollars.”
Peter shifted in his seat. “I hadn’t heard.”
“Really? I can understand the moneyed interests keeping such news quiet, but I figured within a niche industry like this, there were no secrets.”
This time I held my gaze on Peter and watched his eyeballs bounce around the room. He squirmed a little more in his seat. Too much time passed for him to get away with lying. He was a salesman, after all, who had sitting before him a potential client worth a fat commission on top of a potential broker kickback.
Peter took a deep breath and then crossed one leg over the other. “Well, certainly, we do hear things. But what’s true and what’s rumor isn’t always clear. And superstitions are always in the back of one’s mind in a small competitive market like ours.”
“Airlines don’t brag about their crash records.”
“Precisely.”
“Although one could argue the consumer has the right to know how safe his investment is. I assume this market is free from government regulations. And a business has the right to assure a client that mistakes made elsewhere are learning opportunities.”
Peter was starting to like me. “Absolutely! Which is why I can—with confidence—tell you that the rumored breach would have been avoided here.”
“I guess you’re not superstitious.”
“Science trumps superstition. Are you familiar with biometrics?”
“Like digital fingerprinting? Is this the ‘extraordinary’ measure you mentioned earlier?”
“We offer up to a four-layer biometric security package. Signature recognition is the first layer. Then the digital fingerprint. Third is the iris scan. The fourth layer takes the iris scan to the next level. It’s complicated, but think of being able to use the contractions of the pupil to determine the authenticity of an individual’s identity.”
I said, “The cost is determined by how many layers one desires, which would then be partially offset by a less expensive insurance payment.”
“You have a mind for business, Mr. Landau. Come, let’s have a look at the vault.”
I followed Peter to the wide staircase spiraling down into a subterranean arched hallway. From there, we journeyed through four separate steel-reinforced security doors designed to look like they came off the hinges of a medieval castle. Once Peter got us through the final door, we entered a temperature-controlled catacomb of floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with bottles. It reminded me of library stacks, except these racks were connected to mechanized levers that opened up walkways between the walls of wine, giving access to private collectors.
“And depending on the total value of the commodity being stored,” Peter continued, “we envision some instances where the purchase of insurance would be deemed superfluous.”
Canister spotlights added to a feeling of recently discovered antiquity, as if visiting an archaeological display. I said, “Layers upon layers of security available for the right price.”
“For some, peace of mind is beyond cost.”
Peter led me back to the stairway. He began the ascent then stopped and said, “Would you rather take the elevator?”
I declined. At the next turn I said, “The facility from where the wine is rumored to be missing, they did not have this technology?”
“If there was a breach in security, this technology could not have been in use. I have no doubt.”
“Unless it was an inside job.”
Peter waited until we reached the top step to say, “An inside job trumps all other scenarios. That is why you must trust your employees.”
“How would they get away with it?”
“They wouldn’t get away with it. Any action
“Negligible because the odds of a successful robbery are small?”
“Exactly.”
“But it does happen, right?”
Peter thought about it. “I’m sure somewhere it has happened.”
“According to my friend, it happened here in Chicago. Ten cases of Mouton Rothschild worth over two million dollars.”
Peter shifted in his seat. “I hadn’t heard.”
“Really? I can understand the moneyed interests keeping such news quiet, but I figured within a niche industry like this, there were no secrets.”
This time I held my gaze on Peter and watched his eyeballs bounce around the room. He squirmed a little more in his seat. Too much time passed for him to get away with lying. He was a salesman, after all, who had sitting before him a potential client worth a fat commission on top of a potential broker kickback.
Peter took a deep breath and then crossed one leg over the other. “Well, certainly, we do hear things. But what’s true and what’s rumor isn’t always clear. And superstitions are always in the back of one’s mind in a small competitive market like ours.”
“Airlines don’t brag about their crash records.”
“Precisely.”
“Although one could argue the consumer has the right to know how safe his investment is. I assume this market is free from government regulations. And a business has the right to assure a client that mistakes made elsewhere are learning opportunities.”
Peter was starting to like me. “Absolutely! Which is why I can—with confidence—tell you that the rumored breach would have been avoided here.”
“I guess you’re not superstitious.”
“Science trumps superstition. Are you familiar with biometrics?”
“Like digital fingerprinting? Is this the ‘extraordinary’ measure you mentioned earlier?”
“We offer up to a four-layer biometric security package. Signature recognition is the first layer. Then the digital fingerprint. Third is the iris scan. The fourth layer takes the iris scan to the next level. It’s complicated, but think of being able to use the contractions of the pupil to determine the authenticity of an individual’s identity.”
I said, “The cost is determined by how many layers one desires, which would then be partially offset by a less expensive insurance payment.”
“You have a mind for business, Mr. Landau. Come, let’s have a look at the vault.”
I followed Peter to the wide staircase spiraling down into a subterranean arched hallway. From there, we journeyed through four separate steel-reinforced security doors designed to look like they came off the hinges of a medieval castle. Once Peter got us through the final door, we entered a temperature-controlled catacomb of floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with bottles. It reminded me of library stacks, except these racks were connected to mechanized levers that opened up walkways between the walls of wine, giving access to private collectors.
“And depending on the total value of the commodity being stored,” Peter continued, “we envision some instances where the purchase of insurance would be deemed superfluous.”
Canister spotlights added to a feeling of recently discovered antiquity, as if visiting an archaeological display. I said, “Layers upon layers of security available for the right price.”
“For some, peace of mind is beyond cost.”
Peter led me back to the stairway. He began the ascent then stopped and said, “Would you rather take the elevator?”
I declined. At the next turn I said, “The facility from where the wine is rumored to be missing, they did not have this technology?”
“If there was a breach in security, this technology could not have been in use. I have no doubt.”
“Unless it was an inside job.”
Peter waited until we reached the top step to say, “An inside job trumps all other scenarios. That is why you must trust your employees.”
“How would they get away with it?”
“They wouldn’t get away with it. Any action
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