It would be an incalculable fortune, growing by monstrous proportions during every second of every minute of every day; round the clock, non-stop, forever. In time, every living man, woman and child would be paying royalties to Michael.
Ha, tee hee, we chortled with glee, when we buried that shitbag, Goffin. None of us, ever liked him much, which is why we bought him a coffin. (Spot of black humour, here).