Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
singing it for a million years." He released her, and opened a wood-covered wooden box. He scooped up a cupful of the sand inside. "Hold out your hands," he told Orison. He filled them with the sand. "Throw our singers some supper for their song," he said. Orison went with her cupped hands to the nearest tank and sprinkled the mineral fishfood around inside it. The Microfabridae leaped from the liquid like miniature porpoises, seizing the grains of sand in mid-air. "They're so very strange," Orison said. At the bottom of the tank she thought she saw Ben Franklin again, winking at her through the bubbling money operators all wore earmuffs—was just as phony as a three-dollar bill! life. Nonsense, she thought, brushing her hands. jacket, were enough to assure Orison that the Taft Bank was a curious "He was a very kind employer," Orison said. She tried to keep from Orison's look of bewilderment. "One each, a Franklin and a Grant," he in a bank, you gotta know who's picture's on the paper. That's a hunnerd-fifty a week, doll." "What will I be doing, Mr. Wanji?" Orison asked. secretarial pool to apply for work here, she thought. Orison McCall, Orison nodded. Holding her newspaper and her microphone, she read the Federal Mata Hari, Orison thought, reading a nonsense story into a heart, wore a pair of earmuffs. Orison nodded bemused acknowledgment of their gesture, and got off in the lobby vowing never to put a penny into this curiousest of banks. eyed Orison with the coolness due so attractive a competitor, and favored her with no gambit to enter their conversations. Orison sighed, double Scotch, followed by a double Scotch. And what the William Howard Taft National Bank and Trust Company needs is a joint raid by forces of the U.S. Treasury Department and the American Psychiatric Association. Bank from within, might prove dangerous. Indeed it was, she thought. She was in danger of becoming a solitary drinker. Home in her apartment, Orison set the notes of her first day's observations in order. Presumably Washington would call tonight for her initial report. Item: some of the men at the Bank wore earmuffs, Orison transferred her head to the pillow to her left. "A radio?" she "Now, tell me what happened at the bank today." Orison briefed her pillow on the Earmuffs, on her task of reading to a National Bank and Trust Company. "That's about it, so far," she said. "Good report," J-12 said from the pillow. "Sounds like you've dropped into a real snakepit, beautiful." "How do you know ... why do you think I'm beautiful?" Orison asked. a peculiar electronic pop that puzzled Orison for a moment. Then she placed the sound: J-12 had kissed his microphone. Orison flung the shoe and the pillow under her bed, and resolved to write Washington for permission to make her future reports by registered mail. , Orison was interrupted by the click of a pair "I'm Orison McCall," she said. A handsome man, she mused. Twenty-eight? Orison looked up. "Oh, hello," she said. "I didn't hear you come up." into a club and standing. "Darling." "So remember, Tiny, Dink Gerding is mine. You're all alone up here. You could get broken nails, fall down the elevator shaft, all sorts of annoyance. Understand me, darling?" "What is this?" Orison demanded. "Visiting-day at the zoo?" She paused had!—and Orison half expected him to free her hand from the rolled-up Instead, Kraft Gerding smiled a smile as frosty as his mustache and Orison jumped up, tossing the paper into her wastebasket. "I quit!" she shouted. "You can take this crazy bank ... into bankruptcy, for all I care. I'm not going to perch up here, target for every uncaged idiot in finance, and listen to another word." Kraft Gerding called the elevator, marched aboard, favored Orison with fifth floor. First the unspeakable Auga Vingt, then the obnoxious Kraft Gerding. Surely, Orison thought, recovering the Wall Street Journal bank into a lunatic asylum. How else, though, could the behavior Half an hour further into the paper, Orison jumped, startled by the Orison scribbled down this intelligence in bemused Gregg before Orison was blinded by the lights, brilliant as noonday sun. The room extended through the entire seventh floor, its windows boarded shut, its ceiling a mass of fluorescent lamps. Set about the floor were galvanized steel tanks, rectangular and a little bigger than bathtubs. Orison counted the rows of tanks. Twelve rows, nine tiers. One hundred pink. She walked to the nearest of the tubs and looked in. It was half full of a greenish fluid, seething with tiny pink bubbles. For a moment Orison thought she saw Benjamin Franklin winking up at her from the liquid. Then she screamed. The pink bubbles, the tiny flesh-colored flecks glinting light from the spun-sugar bridges between the tanks, were spiders. Millions upon millions of spiders, each the size of a mustard-seed crawling, leaping, swinging, spinning webs, seething in the hundred tanks. Orison put her hands over her ears and screamed again, backing toward the stairway door. Orison struggled to release herself. She broke free only to have Gerding. "It seems that our Pandora doesn't care for spiders," he said. "Really, Miss McCall, our little pets are quite harmless. Were we to toss you into one of these tanks...." Orison struggled against her two sumo some quarter-ton, without doing more than lifting her feet from the floor. "... your flesh would be unharmed, though they spun and darted all around you. Our Microfabridae are petrovorous, Miss McCall. Of bank." "I came to bring a message to Dink," Orison said. "Let me go, you acromegalic apes!" Suddenly she was dropped. Her mountainous keepers were on the floor as though struck by lightning, their arms thrown out before them, their faces abject against the floor. Kraft Gerding was slowly lowering "Have you read the story of Bluebeard?" Orison asked. She stood close home and took it down with a broom. Even then, I didn't have appetite for supper." "Strange," Dink said. He walked over to the nearest tank and plucked one of the tiny pink creatures from a web-bridge. "This is no spider, Orison," he said. in the palm of his hand. "These are Microfabridae, more nearly related eaters. They literally couldn't harm a fly. Look at it, Orison." He Microfabridus from his palm to hers. It felt crisp and hard, like "He's like a baby crawdad," Orison said. secret. We don't have a patent on the use of Microfabridae, you see." "What do they do?" Orison asked. "What's he doing now?" Orison asked, watching the Microfabridus, Orison brushed the midget crustacean off her finger into the nearest tank, where he joined the busy boil of his fellows. She felt her ring. It was pitted where the Microfabridus had been nibbling. "Strange, using crawdads in a bank," she said. She stood silent for a moment. "I Orison closed her eyes, leaning back into Dink's arms, listening to

<question>:
What is a likely explanation for Orison seeing Benjamin Franklin images in the Microfabridae tank?

<options>:
A The Microfabridae are killing people and the faces look like Benjamin franklin.
B It was a play of the eyes.
C The Microfabridae are being used to process $100 bills for illegal purposes.
D Someone accidentally dropped $100 bills into the tanks.

<answer>:

C