“The same old cast of characters. Many of them he knew by name, but the rest he knew by type—the preppie investment bankers; the anxious lawyers; the monotone accountants. Most were men, he noted absently. But the few women present fit their mold just as neatly as their professional brothers. Aaron’s attorney, Rye Kinsey, pushed his perpetually slipping glasses back up on his nose and ran one hand through his riot of light brown curls. The plush mahogany conference room in the offices of Rye’s f...irm, fifty-eight floors above the Manhattan skyline, buzzed quietly with the low level of activity that preceded the commencement of a business meeting. “And so I said to Tammy, what the hell do we need a slate roof for, for God’s sake? What am I, made of money?” Aaron listened with half an ear. For all the fees he paid Rye, the guy could afford a slate roof for twenty houses. Perpetually claiming a rich man’s version of poverty was annoying. Aaron had known what it was like to be poor, really poor, in a way that nobody else in this room likely did.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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