Because here was the secret: Mr. Banks wasn't a venture capitalist. He was a broker. And his currency was regret .
And then Zayden would appear from the corner of the room. She'd place one cool hand on the client's forehead. Her golden eyes would flash. And the client would forget. The guilt, the thrill, the secret—gone, plucked from their mind like a mouse from a field. mr banks office demi hawks
Not of contracts. Of people.