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None of the Credit

LAYTON

Three weeks after New Hampshire, I still hadn’t given Banks an answer to his odd request. I couldn’t really believe he would even ask such a thing, it was unheard of. As far as I knew, anyway. I’d done some homework since getting back from the meeting and it turned out that every property Banks owned had him listed as the architect.

I didn’t know why the hell it was so important to him, but it was clearly something he’d been doing for a long time. Most architects didn’t have the money to cover the cost of a building if he threatened to pull out if they didn’t give him credit. I wasn’t most people.

But I still hadn’t decided what I was going to do. Despite the fact that my inheritance was large enough to tide over several small countries for a year, and I’d had my own success and didn’t live too extravagantly. I had paid a small fortune for my apartment, but I figured that was both an investment and my sanctuary.

My car was nice and I wore only tailored clothes. I wasn’t selfish
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