The Naked Eye by Vasilis Afxentiou

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Marcus saw the inside begin to whirl and soon turn to murky grey, dull cream, and, finally, to diamond brilliance.
Marcus got up and came close to look at the sparkling jewel the other held between his fingers. Coruscating sprays of rainbows caught, filled and dominated his eye. Its pristine radiance bathed his retinas making him blink. His eyes watered carelessly in the multi-chromatic glow.
"It's sin, itself!" he nearly drooled and kneeled before the Scot to have a better look. "Where is the agent?"
"A tiny shimmer--the star, if you look hard, in its geometric centre," Hauge said and pinched more wires. The liquid swirled, sparkling, spewing needles of rainbow light throughout Marcus' posh office and into the amazed president's eyes.
That did it. Now Marcus, and his empire, belonged to him.
"Get off your knees, old fellow," Hauge said, offering his chair. "Take this too."
Marcus pinched and gawked as the scientist laid the tiny, gleaming machine in his palm.
"Are you with me, man?"
Marcus watched the die in his own hand turn into a green emerald, a blue sapphire, yellow citrine, fire opal... "Eh, yes. Absorbing sort of...prettiness...so, so pretty!" Marcus's parched voice was weak and reedy.
Hauge rose, walked to Marcus' communicator, and punched the red button. "Ms. Atwood," Hauge remembered the little plaque on the slight, bespectacled secretary's desk, "would you come in," he said, now bending over the intercom and standing behind Marcus' elegant desk.
The secretary entered, seeming riddled over the sitting man playing with his empty hands. "So, so pretty..." Marcus raved on.
"Is anything wrong, Mr.--"
"Mr. Marcus will be leaving now. Oh, and, Ms. Atwood, would you be kind enough to bring your pad with you when you come back. We have changes to make."
An enigmatic expression cast on the young lady as she faced Hauge, sitting behind the great desk. For a moment, Hauge thought amused, she must have taken me for someone else. "Yes, sir," she said, lingering her dispersed, fishbowl stare a while.
The Scotsman observed and humored the other's fascination as she watched intently the die in his hand turn cornelian pink, hyacinth red, amethyst violet, lazurite blue, peridot green...
"Have one," he said, reaching again into an empty pocket, knowing it would be the most important thing on her mind from here on. "Anything else, Ms. Atwood?"
"No, oh not a thing, sir. So pretty!" she chirped and gawked at her empty hand, sighed deeply and escorted her charge out.
"Ah, one more thing. Change Mr. Marcus's flight for Marakesh instead, and accompany him personally till he boards." The climate should be more akin to Texas's, he considered, and put the real die back in his coat pocket.
He always wanted to see how it felt to be a megatherium of business, unfettered to make and supply freely as much blood as needed for poor, needy people and little girls like his late sister, Margaret.