Meeting Mr. Banks

MARISSA

Eight minutes later and exactly, to the minute on time, yet another young woman came down a hallway to our right. “Mr. Bridges? Mr. Banks will see you now. Please follow me.”

We did as she asked, being led to a conference room with a table the size of my house in the center of it. I was starting to wonder if this Mr. Banks had something to make up for, since his car, building and table were larger than life and he only seemed to have young attractive girls working in his office.

I smirked, catching Layton’s eye. It was no wonder he had no use for such luxurious, ostentatious things. He had nothing to make up for.

He narrowed his eyes questioningly, but I shook my head. I would have to remember to tell him later. He would get a kick out of it. At that moment, the conference room doors swung open again and a fifty-something man in an impeccable suit stepped through them. There were some gray strands interrupting his otherwise jet black hair and his eyes were almost the same colo