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The Foolproof Cure for Cancer

"I've had cancer three times," said Mr. Mayflower, teeth gleaming in a magnificent grin. "Each time in a different part of my body. Each time incurable and inoperable by the standards of so-called modern medicine.

"And I stand before you now without a single malignant cell in my body. The cancers are not merely in remission. They are gone forever."

As Tom Porter listened, he felt hopeful in spite of himself. In his search for a cure for his wife, Sydney, he had been down countless dead ends before, like a rat blundering through a maze with no exit...but he was still a sucker. His features were fixed in an expressionless stare, but underneath, he listened with all the goggle-eyed raptness of a child hearing the story of Santa Claus on Christmas Eve.

Maybe there was a chance. After all, now he was dealing with Ignatius Yawheh Mayflower, the famous Billionaire Samaritan.

"How were you cured?" said Tom, shifting in his chair.

Mayflower winked and reached for the jewel-studded cigarette case on the glass-topped patio table. "I'll never tell," he said, drawing out a skinny black cigarette, "but I have no doubt we can do the same for Sydney."

Tom watched as the Billionaire Samaritan put down the case and lit the cigarette. Though he had read that Mayflower was at least ninety years old, Tom thought the billionaire didn't look a day over sixty. Mayflower had a mane of pure white hair, but his face was smooth and tanned. His tight, black turtleneck revealed a frame that was lean and muscular instead of shriveled and knobby.

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