“Fingernail. And a diamond is just a rock, and a Rolex is just a watch,” Knight recited dismissively. “Things are worth what people say they are, and people have decided that your rhinos are worth more dead than alive. I didn’t invent the invisible hand of economics, but it can really bitch-slap you if you try and fight it.” Knight registered the Afrikaner’s anger building as he systematically dismantled his worldview.

“So we should all just give up and find another planet to start over?”

“Look, I’m not the bad guy here. I grew up in Saratoga, New York. My dad was a trainer at the tracks.”

The man scoffed at Knight’s attempt at rapport-building. “Horse racing is a dirty business. I guess the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”

Knight took offense, suddenly feeling the need to justify himself to this bleeding-heart moral arbiter. “My dad was one of the good ones. The other trainers used to shoot up their horses with snake venom. The horses would run like hell for a couple years, then drop dead. My dad didn’t win many races, but he never lost a horse. I know animals, and my business is making sure people don’t mismanage them. So yeah, I make money off animals—a lot of fucking money. But don’t lump me in with those bastards raping Mother Nature.”

Though Knight was normally an expert at reading people, he couldn’t tell if his dinner guest had bought a word he said.

The South African took a deep breath. “What do you want?”

“Your boss shipped a tiger cub to the States. It was sick and killed a lot of tigers that my company is responsible for. I need to know where it came from.”

The South African hesitated, then spoke quietly. “They have farms.”

Knight was surprised at the revelation. He had heard rumors of people trying to farm endangered animals but assumed they were just that—rumors. The farming of tigers was highly illegal and would be in direct violation of the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora (CITES).

The man leaned in. “The syndicate is going to bribe delegates at the next CITES convention to push through legislation to legalize farming wild animals. Tigers, rhinos, God knows what else.”

Knight was familiar with the pitch for farming endangered animals. “Save wildlife by making it commercially viable.”

“Except it’s all bullshit. In reality, it’s the final nail in the coffin. The second there is a legal market, demand goes through the roof and there’s nothing to stop you from passing off poached animals as farmed animals. Once you legalize trade in a species, you’ve given up on it completely and it’s gone from the wild forever. Goodbye, tigers.”

“But you’re trying to stop them.”

Knight’s visitor fell silent. “Where are the farms?” he pressed.