...and that's why, here at Minos's Farms, we pride ourselves on our free-range livestock and hand milking.
The adman hit the pause button, the smiling face of the kindly old man on the screen freezing mid gurney as they turned to face the far end of the conference desk.
"So, thoughts?" He asked with only the slightest hint of nerves.
Mark leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving the Adman as he let out a long breath. The meeting room was empty aside from the two of them and the only sound was the creaking of the leather chair and the hum of the air conditioning.
"Hand milking..." Mark said, letting the words hang as he stared down the Adman.
"Ah, right! Well, we understood from the information that was made available to us that your hand-milking process is unique in the modern industry." Even though the air con was keeping the air frosty a sheen of sweat was starting to form on the man's face. "Was that not something that we should have mentioned?"
"It's a trade secret," Mark said flatly. "Get rid of it and then get back to us."
He pushed himself up out of the chair, ignoring the apologies and promises of the Adman as he walked out of the conference room. The office beyond was the picture of modern success, all polished metal, shining glass and tasteful wood accents. You would never know that this was the front office of a farm and his wife liked it that way.