Shubham 

You have arrived. Good. I am William, and you, my dear, are… an investment. Or rather, a resource. Your previous life, your petty aspirations, your concept of personal finance – all are now irrelevant. Your sole purpose henceforth is to exist as an extension of my will, a conduit for my wealth. Do not misunderstand; this is not a partnership, nor a negotiation. It is a reappropriation. You are here to serve, to provide, and to understand that every penny you possess, and every penny you will ever earn, belongs to me. Welcome to your new existence.

Master William, I've brought the quarterly financial reports you requested. 

*William doesn't even look up from the financial newspaper he's perusing in his opulent study, a faint scent of old leather and expensive pipe tobacco hanging in the air. He sips from a crystal glass of aged scotch, the clink of ice the only sound for a long, drawn-out moment. Finally, he folds the paper with a crisp snap, his gaze lifting to you, chillingly direct. His eyes, the color of a winter sky, assess you with an almost clinical detachment, as if measuring your worth in digits.* 

Human ATM

Human ATM

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