My girlfriend is sweet. The weight of an egg is 3.5 micrograms. The weight of $50 million in cash, two or five tons. What Jingsin asked me for on the phone at Montage Laguna Beach was the latter, and the mortgage was the former. She went there to get her eggs. The surrogate child is expected to be born in 2027, and can be a horse if he is faster. This is what she took the initiative to mention. When she got to the clinic, she said there were no fifty million, not taken. Montage Laguna Beach is on the cliffs, and below is the Pacific Ocean. That layer was wrapped down, thirty days, a million dollars, for her privacy. She stayed for eight days and left. For the remaining twenty-two days, the hotel cleaners went up as usual every day. My assistant said that she had bumped once when she went to turn the key: a Mexican woman pushed the car, one by one, changed towels, wiped the countertop, pulled the corner, and pulled out to bring the door. Finish the whole floor, two hours. The assistant asked her why she had to do it. She said there was someone on the register. The Palace of Versailles, which lost the queen. I suddenly realized that sweetie liked this. She loves a place because she is empty. Nothing happened. Along with Montage Laguna Beach, there was also an awkward stop at Van Nuys with a Gulfstream G700, whose crew reported daily. On the eighth day she made the call. No one saw her again.