Bold. I like it.
“Mr. Lachemi I’m afraid I can’t give you this letter,” you say. Lachemi lunges for his desk drawer and pulls out a big ass sword. You turn around and book it for the door. But it’s too late—it slams shut. Lachemi gives you an evil grin that would make even Waluigi jealous. Lucky for you, you knew to bring your phase-shifting suit on a mission like this, and you just send it through the door. You deus-ex-machina’d that bourgeoisie boss man.
You open up the letter and see a blank cheque for a million dollars from the Ford government. Congratulations! You’re a winner, a millionaire, and not asking any questions.