Rabbit, Hole, & Day, LLP.

I hand him my card. Cream-colored laid paper, 80# stock. Very white-shoe law-firm. "Elias K. Mangosteen / Negotiator". No other titles necessary, at least not now. Most of them can't be pronounced or written using standard equipment anyway.

The fellow doesn't look like the type who would normally engage my services. I mean, I'm good. I'm really good. Remember the whole Tam-Lin thing? Yeah, that young no-longer-a-maiden called me in after the whole "hold on tight after he burst into magical flame" trick didn't work out so well. One of my first jobs. "Mangosteen" didn't fit into the poetic meter though, so I get dropped, and she gets the credit. Got some good leads off it though.... but I digress. Point is, the prospective client seemed like the kind of guy who had my kind of talent on-tap for such an occasion. So, here he was, a perfectly-dressed businessman, in a perfectly-dressed chair, in a perfectly-dressed study, with a perfectly horrible look of worry on his face.

"Your associates called me. You paid my consult fee. You even agreed to a standard verbal contract of my design. You have my attention. What can I do for you?"

"I have a.... problem."

"Sir--"

"No, no... I know. It's just a bit odd having to talk to someone of your ilk about this. Usually we handle such things in-house, and we have our own language in which we speak of them. We handle quite a few contracts and agreements here, all of them quite intricate. English is not known for its unambiguousness."

"Heh. All true, all true. Take your time."

"Very well. To put it as bluntly as possible, we gave away the farm, and now we want it back."

"Wow. That's a big twinkie."

"Yes, Dr. Mangosteen, yes it is. To go on, we've structured deals with a lot of people in the US corporate world over time. But, as you might imagine, like anyone interested in expansion, we decided to create some rather.... exotic deals."

"Sir, I really can't help you if you keep talking in euphemisms. You overextended, and you screwed up. I'm cool with that. That's why I'm here. Details, sir."

"Very well then. It's quite simple. We do deals with the heads of the biggest corporations in the US. There's a reason for this. We helped write US corporate law. My associates and I have been in this ever since you primates figured out how to organize capital, and we saw an opportunity to expand. Elias-- I'm paying you enough to call you Elias-- I *know* you're familiar with US corporate personhood, and I'm paying you to think. What do you think I did?"

So, I thought. Corporate personhood. A corporation is a person. A corporation has employees. This guy makes deals with corporations, but usually just the heads... but a corporation, with employees, is also a person... Oh. Oh my.

"Sir, in the words of Keanu, 'Whoa.'"

"I was quite fond of the idea, myself. There are certain economies of scale to be had by doing acquisitions wholesale. So, I did what anyone in my situation would do. I put my best people on the task, oversaw the process, drafted up the contracts, and set out for a deal."

"So wh--"

"A fucking comma. A stupid fucking comma. One of my clerks must have blotted out some excess ink. A semicolon, and I could have closed the biggest deal in history. A comma, and I'm calling you. Look. It's all quite simple. I could have gotten 5,000 USDA Prime souls down here without any of their knowledge. No one reads employment contracts, and even fewer people read corporate law. As it stands though, well, OH THIS IS SO. FUCKING. EMBARASSING!"

You ever see what happens when a demigod starts having a hissy fit? Like that. I just kept my mouth shut. He calmed down, I brushed the singed bits off of my eyebrows, and he continued.

"As of yesterday, Google owns The Nine Levels of Hell, plus Limbo."

Finally. A tractable problem. "Understood, sir. We're on it. Contact my office and we'll start the motions for arbitration."

He's paying. I'll get him out of this. I don't think I could cope with a primary-colored Hell.