Hank decides that it's time to speak up. "Well, now, now we've got a problem. You see how it is, Mr. Grey. You want a package from us, and our employer, well, he wants it, too. Clearly someone's not going to be satisfied with how things work out. Problem is, we've got to figure out who that is." He takes a drink, then continues. "Our employer, of course, has a solid claim; so now we need to evaluate you and your "foundation"."
"As you suggested when you walked in, we did a run recently. But I hardly think that we took anything from you. Our targets were experienced military; your "foundation", on the other hand, seems to only have been able to afford one suit of armor and some old laser pointers. You're clearly not an experienced team. I mean, come on--a troll, two humans, and you decide the elf is the biggest threat in a close-quarters combat? I'm flattered, really, but I can assure you that even if your boys out there had guns attached to those laser pointers--which I doubt--you'd be dead before my corpse hit the floor. My associates would see to that."
"No, experienced military would have a plan for neutralizing the biggest threat first, and they wouldn't announce their numbers by this ridiculous show of force," he gestures to the lights still playing over his chest. "Unless training's gone far downhill since my days, at least. So, since we've established that you're not the people we...'dealt with' earlier, how's about you cut through the crap and give us a feasible reason why we should even consider your...proposal?" Saying this, Hank leans forward to hear what Mr. Grey's response will be.
Rybka, of course, can see the tightening of Hank's muscles; he's shifted to the edge of his seat, preparing to move quickly.